Gilded
by tinkerheck
Summary: Please consult my profile to read the remaining chapters of Gilded, thank you!
1. Chapter 1

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. ****I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **One shot, told from Sebby's POV.**

• **Rated a safe M for unsavory comments by you-know-who.**

Author's note: This is strictly the Kuroshitsuji _anime_ universe, not the manga. The rules of contract-making were, I think, deliberately vague in the anime, so I have taken some liberties. Call this artistic license, or AU, or whatever makes you comfy.

•

**Gilded**

•

There is something I need for you to understand about my job. Something about human souls.

There is an insanely large difference between souls whose innocence or naiveté – or, sadly, _stupidity_ – simply fulfills our dietary needs when eaten, versus a soul that has been put to the test, beat to the ground, and has managed to stand back up again. All on its own.

These souls possess… a _different_ kind of purity, and they draw us near like moths to a flame.

A guileless nature is appealing to a vengeance demon such as myself, no doubt. But it's an easy mark. All humans are born _tabula rasa_. It is the bread and butter of our existences. Shooting fish in a barrel, I believe the human expression goes. A demon could survive quite nicely on the entrapment of common innocent souls, despite that their potency is weak and it takes tens or even hundreds of those kinds of souls to equal the power and pleasure you get from one of the other ones. They are _such_ easy prey that you could equate them to fast food.

Your demonic tummy grumbles, so you pull up to the ultimate soul food (pun fully intended) drive in, pick a dish that's aching to be plucked for whatever reason, and grab a quick bite. Fast, easy, cheap.

And, unlike your human fast food, they are severely lacking in calories, as you'll find that not much longer than a phase of the moon passes and your strength wanes. You'll need to eat another one. However, such a catch is so easy that you do not mind. You become complacent, and feeding once a month or so on food that is easy to eat no longer becomes a chore. It becomes… existence. And that's all.

Most of us are lazy, just like you. We will go for the easy kill.

However, some of us get bored_._ It takes a couple thousand years of being a demon, but we crave more. We want a challenge. I do think of myself as a demon in this category, although I have not always succeeded.

Once beyond a certain age, or after having had an extreme experience, a human's clean slate begins to tarnish. What happens after that is what makes the difference between fast food and the uncommon, delicious soul.

A soul whose purity is worth savoring, a _complicated_ soul, takes considerable more effort to obtain. However, it is worth it in the end. It can last you several decades, sometimes even centuries, before you need to feed again.

These souls are difficult. They are often smart humans, who do not suffer fools gladly. The belief systems of the society that they live in usually mark them as 'jaded' or 'sullied'.

I am here to tell you, that is _so_ not the case.

Bitter, yes. But non-pure? No. Not these rare souls. Most have seen tragedy; some have suffered horrors such as famine, war, slavery or rape, to name just a few of the disgusting exploits that humans have invented to entertain themselves. These souls have been tested and tested again, only to prove their worthiness each time.

Over the millennia, I have noticed that the less worthy seem to have a low opinion of these individuals, while simultaneously depending upon them to fix all that is wrong in their measly lives – such an obvious irony! It eventually led me to feel sick at the thought of eating unworthy souls simply for sustenance. With nothing else at the buffet, I will elect to bide my time and go hungry, thank you very much.

The worthy are rubbed the wrong way by life to the point where they realize their lot is never going to change – life will always _suck,_ as it were, and they will die tired, bitter and misunderstood, mostly due to their worthless peers.

Silly human belief systems label these as the _fallen_. They are humans that have given up and are angry, they have 'lost their way to the light' – an intensely nauseating turn of phrase, by the way – and they need to be _saved_.

No, they don't. _They already are._ They saved themselves a long time ago. It's the rest of you idiots that could use some honest salvation. And most of you wouldn't know just exactly what that entailed if it were to march up and bite off your privates.

The worthy soul is strong and capable. They make mistakes and then they correct their behavior in turn. They do good deeds without having the need to be seen doing it. They love, _deeply_ – despite outward inclinations. A contract for such a soul is hard-won, very involved… and a disastrous bitch if broken. Under such circumstances, a demon does not get punished or humiliated, as a human might imagine. One simply develops an ache, and it never goes away.

But the fulfillment is worth any effort, and the wait–

Oh, the wait.

_So achingly delicious._

Such a soul was my young master, Ciel Phantomhive. The one that got away. I did not want his soul because it was innocent. I wanted it because it had seen tragedy, it had sought revenge, and it was still intense. _Pure_. Over time I came to love Ciel; yes, you heard correct, I did not say lust – although I am convinced that I'd have taken him that way as well, if we'd had more years together as human master and demon servant.

You do not believe me? That is too bad. I do not lie, ever. Demons are capable of love. We know nothing of heaven, but we know plenty about love.

I loved him, and then I lost him. Due to outside interference the chance to fulfill our contract was ripped from us. I say it now: if I ever run into any of those four again, I will dismember them with my bare hands on principle alone. Alois Trancy did not simply give us a 'taste' of his grief; he gave us an eternity of it, and then he and his comrades moved on to an unearned reward at our bloody fucking expense.

Ciel's soul was no longer 'him'_,_ as it were. I don't even think _he_ knew who he was anymore. The contract was still in effect but my delicious meal had been stolen from me. We decided to leave for Hell together.

As expected, he put up with his new living space like the trooper he is, but he did not take to being an actual demon. He was young and brash and foolish – I still called him my _Young Master,_ for the contract was still in place, and I treated him as such. But he simply would not take my advice. I don't think he was a lazy or stupid demon. He probably would have made a very good one, if his heart had been in it.

It turns out Ciel had a death wish, and it wasn't long before it came true. He would taunt and pester our demonic peers, until one day he finally went too far – or perhaps I should say as far as he finally _needed_ to go? Either way, I was late in coming to his aid, but he managed a glance at me before his opponent could strike the killing blow.

Ciel did not look angry in that moment, or even sad. He was moving on, to what I do not know, and he seemed at peace. I still dream about that beautiful face.

Ciel was destroyed. He vanished, and the contract mark evaporated from my hand in that very instant. Infuriated, I tore his killer to shreds.

I am indeed vicious, you see.

Take heed, Claude Faustus, Alois Trancy. Being torn apart is also your fate should you grow lax in avoiding me. And for the record, I will _not_ endeavor to be gentle.

•

"Are you composing a symphony?"

I startled her, this Miss Gilda Franks, and she glanced at me with wide, dark green eyes.

When her file showed up in our office as a candidate for revenge, I read it immediately, just as I do all of them. I confess I spend more time reading files than I do actually approaching the marks. That's how I find them, the delicious ones.

Her file suggested she was pretty and young. Just my type.

It also said she was seventeen, a hard case, a prodigy, had herself declared an emancipated minor last year upon early graduation from high school, and was attending a musical conservatory on a partial scholarship (and was already thirty grand in debt because of it).

Ah, money. The easiest form of entrapment.

I didn't think she was going to be that easy, though. I certainly _hoped_ she was not going to be that easy.

"Um. Yeah," she said, voice full of hesitation. Her file also said she was quite wary of men, mostly due to her bastard of a biological father.

"May I see?"

She looked up at me then, her green eyes flashing. "Nope."

"Very well. Is this seat taken?" I asked, smiling lightly and pointing to the chair opposite her. She was consuming, illegally, an alcoholic beverage at a small outdoor café. The table was built for two, but she was there alone.

Gilda looked me up and down, carefully taking in my appearance before answering.

This was America, and it was nineteen ninety-three. I didn't wear the same thing I wore during Ciel's time, but the butler thing was still my shtick. I was so very good at it, you see.

In fact, I am one _hell_… oh, you get the picture.

These days I wore thin black leather gloves, tailored black business trousers with a simple black leather belt, shiny black oxfords (with _tassels!)_, black socks, and a black button down shirt made from the finest long-staple Egyptian cotton. Pocket watch gone, I now wore an expensive silver watch with a black leather strap.

My undergarments, since I am _positive_ you are wondering about them, were boxers and a "t" shirt, both of black silk.

It was acceptable for the day and age, and still within my personal rules that I should look very, very desirable.

"Are you a nut-job?"

She managed to pull me out of my reverie.

"Pardon?"

"I don't want you to sit down at my table if you are crazy. I've had enough of that for one lifetime."

"And yet you are so young," I said smoothly, sitting down.

A waiter came over within seconds, flipped his little book open and asked me what I'd be ordering.

"Coffee. Black."

I had no intention of drinking it, but at least it would go perfect with my outfit.

The pimply-faced server rolled his eyes and walked off.

"I see I'm going to have company whether I want it or not," she sighed. "So what's your name?"

I smirked at her. May as well start the game right now, yes?

"What do you think it is?"

She smiled half-heartedly. _Adorable_. Looking away, she shook her head.

"Listen, I've heard some cheesy lines before, but that…" The girl looked back at me, smiling sweetly. "You want me to _guess_ your name?"

I laughed quietly. _She wouldn't even be able to pronounce it, let alone read it._

"No," I began, smiling back at her just as sweetly while folding my gloved hands on top of the table. I tried to ignore how filthy it was. "I want you to pick a name that you feel would suit me, if, say, we were to… get to know one another."

Her face dipped low, and her eyes bore into me. It was the kind of expression I've often seen adult humans giving their offspring when said offspring are acting strangely or unreasonably.

"You want me to _name_ you?"

I tried to avoid smirking, but as usual, could not help myself. Little Miss Hard Case... It was all beginning to make sense.

"Yes. Play along. You will like this game."

I should have scolded myself for using a statement that smacked of self-fulfilling prophecy. It was far too soon for such things.

Still, if she truly thought I was a 'nut-job', she wasn't calling the security guard over just yet. In fact, her pheromone levels were beginning to rise. That, combined with the sweetness of her particular soul made for a very heady brew. Kind of like my young master, but older. Just as sexually appealing, but of course more feminine. She was a intoxicating – _exactly_ like Ciel – and I had to remind myself to focus.

It was obvious to me by then that the little fool had _no_ idea just how vulnerable a target she was to most demons. All demons have hobbies or tendencies, just like humans. Some focus on sex appeal, like myself. Did you think those stilettos were just for show, darling? How silly of you. And _no_, you may _not_ try them on.

Some demons like accomplishing things, others just like the chase and kill aspect of our existences. But it doesn't really matter what their hobbies are; the fact of the matter is that most of them simply do not enjoy the games we play. Most of them are only in it for the kill, the victory, the proverbial notching of a bedpost…

The sucking of a soul. Quantity versus quality. _Fast food._

They make me ill, my colleagues.

There are so many more delicacies to be had in my profession. All one has to do is look a little closer.

I have never eaten human food, but I ask you, which is better? Eating a bar of chocolate – the good stuff, mind you, do not waste your hard-earned money on a bar of shit – in two unmannerly gulps? Or would you rather rip the wrapper off slowly, in pieces, teasingly, admiring the shiny foil liner as it lays in your hand, smelling the delightful aroma before you even peel it back to see the treat… Then taking your time, taking just one reasonable bite… you savor the dark, rich flavor, rolling the pungent creaminess over your tongue until it melts so softly and you nearly cum in your under things from all the pleasure it's providing you with, until finally, _finally_ you swallow it, ever so slowly. Then you look down at your hand and you see that you have many more bites to go.

You may even decide that one bite was enough for now, and you put the rest of it away for later. In a safe spot. A place where another jealous demon, or a jealous reaper, or a jealous human nut-job (I was beginning to like that expression) cannot steal it from you.

Whoever said this had it wrong – life itself is not likened to a box of chocolates, it is rather a human soul that can be. Gilda's soul is definitely made of very fine chocolate. While committing sin is a concept that I am all-too-familiar with, wasting _her_ soul with one gulp would indeed be a very great sin.

But such a soul can captivate to the point you begin making mistakes. Perhaps that is why I carried things out too long with Ciel Phantomhive…

She startled me out of my reverie with her sweet voice.

"M'kay… I'll go with…" She narrowed her eyes and tapped her lip with her finger.

Feathers and boots! She was so pretty in the simplest ways. How could I have not seen it before? Such a joy, discovering things about you humans.

"Alexander. You look like an Alexander to me."

I nodded. This was a very good name. If we contracted, I would hear her sweet voice calling out to me – _where are you, Alexander? _Or perhaps _save me Alexander! _I am sure to hear the over-abused _Alexander, kill this wretch_.

From one such as her, or my former young master, I'd prefer to hear the line _make me come like a cat in heat, Alexander_.

Yes, I know. That was a teensy bit presumptuous of me.

"Alexander it is, then."

Absentmindedly, I straightened what was found in front of me, tinny utensils that were trying to pass for silverware and a vulgar paper napkin – _sacrilege! _This was apparently meant to be a place setting? Despite the fact that it would never be anything more than what it was, which was utter crap, I arranged the items in nice, perpendicular lines. The 'knife' couldn't cut into an apple tart neatly, let alone a human body. I heaved a sigh.

While the unfortunate ending to the experience with my darling Ciel had left me in ruins for a very long time, it's true, I still sincerely and from the depths of my heart _missed_ buttling.

When I looked up at her, I realized that I had been off in my own fantasy world again, dreaming of crisp linens and polished handrails.

"My deepest apologies. What did you say?"

"I said, did you want to name me too, or shall we go with what was given?"

She had wit, and a sharp tongue. All the delicious ones do.

"Please tell me your name."

"It's Gilda."

I knew this, of course. But should I tell her what else I knew?

Oh, what the hell. It'd just be a _little _hint, after all.

"Gilda?"

"Yes," she responded, suddenly cautious. "Okay, so it's not a beautiful name. It's not like _Alexander_ or anything," she smiled, "But… that's my name."

Wait – did she just inadvertently call me beautiful? I shook my head again to clear it.

"Gilda. That's Teutonic. Germanic. It means offering. Or…" _perhaps more appropriately in __**your**__ case,_ I did not say out loud, "a _sacrifice._"

The only sacrifice I was interested in seeing her make was letting me dine on her soul. However, if Gilda's name was also her nature (your names often are, incidentally, but I am sorry to say you rarely back it up) it could prove problematic.

She shrugged her shoulders high, giving me a sheepish look.

"Well… shit happens, _Alexander_. What can I say?"

The waiter brought my coffee, finally, and I paid the bill before he could ask me what I wanted to eat. He rolled his eyes and walked off again, leaving me wondering why I had bothered to give the little mongrel a tip.

"I have a proposition for you, Miss Gilda."

"Oh, here it comes," she said, annoyed, and beginning to get up. "I fucking _knew_ it–"

"No, please. Wait."

She sat back down in her seat and eyed me.

"All right. What is it?"

"Would you like to form a contract with me?"

•

At first she got upset again, because she thought I was suggesting that we get a motel room and engage in illicit sex. I laughed, promptly establishing that I was not a prostitute, and said, "You are engaging in underage drinking as we speak. Did you think I was going to add underage sex to your day?"

From the moment I sat down, Gilda smelled like she had hot, delicious, reactive blood. And now she was confirming it, as blush number one suddenly appeared. Lucky, lucky me, there would be many more to follow.

I was proud of myself, at least, that I managed to keep her attention on me for the next twenty minutes while I explained to her what I was and what I could offer. Eventually she sensed that I was not going to hurt her, so she listened carefully, and asked a few very pointed questions about the contract. Her intelligence and candid nature surprised me. To her credit, I could tell she absolutely did not believe me, but she did not run away screaming or demand security come and toss me out.

Of course, the fact that she would have been in hot water for holding underage liquor in her hands might have added to that decision. But I digress.

When I had said all that I could, she leaned back, and scrutinized me.

It did not make me uncomfortable. Beautiful people are used to being stared at, and unlike most humans, I happen to enjoy it.

"All right," Gilda suddenly stated, as she picked up the notebook she had been composing on, and flipped to a blank page. "I'll make a list. I _love_ list-making," she said, winking, looking delightfully older than her seventeen years. "I'll weigh the pros and cons. Just to amuse you, you know?" She smiled at me as she clicked the end of her cheap pen. There was genuine warmth in her expression. I've seen the opposite enough to recognize it immediately.

Could it be that my abundant natural sex appeal was actually getting under Little Miss Hard Case's beautiful skin?

Then again, it might have been the alcohol in her beverage. I made a mental note to remember to keep her from imbibing without me being close at hand for any needed rescues should we decide to form a contract. Can't have the client going off and getting her delectable soul lost to another because of intoxication, now can we?

At the very least, if she thought me to be an insane person she was being very polite about it. Manners are a rare thing, so full marks to her.

"Are you going to make this really abstract? Because I can't form an opinion over that."

A student of the arts. Yes, she was.

"All I can say to that, Gilda, is that I do not lie. Nor will I ever."

She bit her lip for a moment, staring at me in consideration. I found myself wanting to offer my services prematurely, as in, I would gladly bite her lip for her.

"Okay then… Let's start with the cons, shall we?"

I nodded.

"The payment for this contract will be my soul, right?"

I nodded again.

"So, that means death, right?"

"Yes. I promise to be gentle, of course."

"Uh huh," she eyed me. "Okay, that'd be number one. And of course, loss of the ownership of my soul is number two."

"You consider death to be more tragic than the loss of your immortal soul?"

"Well… At present, I _know_ I'm alive. The jury is still out on whether or not the rest is even true."

I tilted my head at her. "You're agnostic?"

"Leaning towards atheist, but, yeah."

"I see."

Believe it or not, I do have some moral obligations to my prey. One is making sure they understand what they are getting themselves into. I was going to have to convince Gilda more thoroughly of the very real consequences of any decision she might make, and _before_ we contracted.

_Lovely. An atheist with a sacrificial nature. I do so love a good challenge…_

"So, what happens next? Eternal suffering?"

"That depends on your definition of suffering."

"Well, the traditional definitions of damnation are daily burning, daily beatings, probably rape, dismemberment only to have the limb grow back overnight so it can be pulled off again… Those sorts of things."

She was eyeing me critically as though she was writing out a list for the grocer's.

"That would be someone's idea of Hell. I am not offering you Hell, nor anyone's _vision_ of it. I would eat your very soul at the end, and then you would belong to me, would be inside of me. No burning or dismembering – but only because I would now be in charge of your own private eternity and I'm not really into that sort of thing. It's distasteful, and frankly, too much maintenance."

"So, what then?"

I paused. Most humans did not get this part. I had a tiny bit of hope that she would.

"Oblivion."

She stopped writing and gaped at me. Yes, she gets it. And her soft mouth, while ever-so-slightly open like that? Gods, I wanted to kiss her, surprise her, feel those pretty pink lips making that 'o' shape right on top of my own mouth and twirl my tongue right into it…

"Really?" she finally asked. "That's bad. I don't like that."

"You understand oblivion?"

"I've had some dreams that were… Well. Whatever. I read. I'm fairly intelligent. I get the concept. And _that_ concept has moved to the number one spot."

"Over death and losing ownership of your soul?"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely. Oblivion is right up there with getting eaten by a shark. Only it's worse, because it's for… always. Right?"

"Correct."

"Kay…" she intoned, slightly nervous. "This isn't really a con so much as curiosity, but what about how you carry out your part of this contract? I don't care for slackers. Are you thorough?"

"Viciously so," I said, smiling my sexiest, most evil smile.

She had the gall to grin at me, the little minx.

"Here's a con – maybe. Will I have to watch?"

"That is entirely up to you."

She paused. "That's… vague. Your answer is too ambivalent. But, I guess the question was ambivalent too, so that's not going in either column." She crossed out some lines and wrote a few small notes next to them. "Listen, the oblivion thing has thrown me – I mean, how many souls have you eaten? How many people do you already have in there?"

"Thousands," I answered, truthfully and without ego. It shames me to say that nearly all of them had been fast food, and eaten when I was a very young demon. Then my tastes went and grew up, damn it all.

"And they are _all_ in oblivion? They don't even … I don't know, _run into_ each other in some sort of communal nothingness?"

"The very notion of community would–"

"Yeah, yeah, it destroys the concept of oblivion. I get it. Will I be aware of _you_?"

I smiled at her. I couldn't help myself. Affection is a strange thing.

"Would you _want_ to be aware of me?"

"Can you just answer the question?"

"No." I decided to let her take that anyway she wanted, and Gilda rolled her eyes.

"So you do not lie, but you are allowed to be vague. Great. Are you aware of me, while I'm… in there?" she asked, pointing in the general vicinity of my chest.

"Yes."

"Well, that's something, at least," she sighed. "Back to the list. Can you tell me anything else that I should put in the cons column? Not that oblivion isn't horrible enough…" Her voice drifted off, sounding slightly put off.

"Yes. Well. As we accomplish your goal, we _may_ have to deal with some of my… peers… as they attempt to thwart my contract with you."

I conveniently left out the part that Grell Sutcliff, the Gay Red Reaper, was likely to show up, acting jealous. He behaved badly enough in the past with regard to my unshakable affections for Ciel. Should this girl and I choose to bed each other… Gods only knew how that _nut-job_ would react.

"They may try to get their hands on you themselves, either for the eating or the killing."

She made that 'o' again with her lips. Heaven's belt…

"I will protect you, Gilda. You have my word."

She shook her head, still confused. "Why on earth would they want _me_?"

I looked away. Just how much was I going to have to reveal to get my mark on her?

"You… smell good. You taste just as nice, I have no doubt. Your soul is remarkably pure for a human. For some of us, you are even irresistible."

"No, no way. I've done bad shit just like everyone else. I lost my virginity at twelve, I've done drugs, I swear, I eat fatty foods–"

"_No_. Those are slips. You've _slipped_, that is all, and they were very small slips my dear. The life you have led thus far is one of integrity. And that is due to your uniquely bright soul. Your soul is quite clean." She narrowed her eyes at me. I smiled down on her pretty face, sweet and genuine. "You know I am right."

She pursed her lips. "Well. All right." Gilda worked her pen over the _cons_ column one last time. "Supernatural bad guys might… _steal_ me." She looked up at me, questioning her interpretation. I nodded my acceptance.

Gilda finally moved to the _pros_ column and immediately filled in something. "Alexander will protect me from said supernatural bad guys."

I nodded again, smiling happily. I _would_ protect her. Just as sure as I would eat her up, eventually. Slowly, with my bare hands. Maybe I'd even go down on her while I did it, just to give her one last thrill–

Noticing my lack of focus, she cocked an eyebrow and drew a single line through both that pro and that con, as they had cancelled each other out.

"Okay, I'm adding that you'll 'end my life gently' to the pro column, so that makes it three-one. But I can cross out _death _from the con column along with it, so…" She made the marks. "Now it's two-none. You need to give me more pros, Alex."

"The obvious one – You will have the revenge you seek."

"Revenge. Yeah, that's a biggie," she said, marking the pro column again. "Two-one. What else?"

"You will never have to soil your hands. I will do all that for you. I will do many things for you."

And _to_ you, if I get my way. Heh.

"Killing people or… That's not a con. Plus, I haven't even told you what it is that I _want_ yet."

"I am not talking about completing the contract now. I have _skills_ that I will happily put to whatever use your heart desires, until the contract is fulfilled."

"I'm confused. What exactly are you offering me here?"

"Miss Gilda, I am… one _hell_ of a butler."

Slowly, she tilted her head at me. Sublime happiness covered her entire face.

"A butler, huh? Yeesh. No one has _ever _taken care of me before. That'd be nice. _Very_ nice," she said, smiling, and made a note. "So, on top of performing unsavory acts to secure my revenge, you'd include all of the normal butler things? You know, keeping track of my schedule, preparing my food, all that?"

"Yes, All of it. The idea – at least this is the way _I_ handle my contracts – is to keep you happy and satisfied until our time together is done. I would never ask you to suffer in exchange for your soul, with the exception of your actual death – and again, I promise to be gentle regarding that. Whatever suffering you encounter after I consume you is largely up to you."

She narrowed her eyes at me. Time to get back on the subject of my ace-in-the-hole.

"This is one very large pro. _I will be your butler._ I will prepare and bring your meals to you, I will clean up after you. I will wake you up in the mornings, bathe and dress you, tend to your schedule and any needs or whims you have throughout the day, and I will bathe you again and tuck you into your bed at night."

She raised her eyebrows. Giving me an incredulous look, Gilda scoffed at me.

"Oh, _come on."_

"Yes. And without an ounce of suggestive behavior," I said, then added quietly, "_If_ that is how you want things."

Her mouth opened with the intent to respond, then she stopped herself. A blush started in her cheeks, deepening as she turned away from me, smiling. I knew what she was thinking. There was all that delicious blood, you see, rising to the occasion.

"Of course, if you want something more than that, we can negotiate the terms as we go. Either way, _that_ will have no effect on our contract."

She kept her eyes off of me, and bit her lip. Gilda took her time scribbling another entry in the pro column. When she was done, my gloved hand shot out like a lightning bolt and removed the notebook from her hands.

"Hey, I–"

She was beet red, smelled glorious, and I proceeded to read aloud what she had written.

"Let me see if you have it right. _'I will be taken care of by a devastatingly hot butler, who will wait on me hand and foot. He may also fuck me silly for free, if I ask nicely'."_

I cleared my throat. "Tch. Such _language_," I finally said, smirking as I handed her notebook back to her. She took it, slightly mortified and refusing eye contact. _So fetching_. I knew she was not a virgin, but holy stones – how much more appealing was she going to get?

"I will not disagree with you that I am devastatingly hot, but kindly remove the last part of that entry, Miss Gilda, if you would."

"Oh… sorry. My bad," she said, chastened, and blushing harder now because of it. I didn't like that. _Chastened_ did not suit her.

She had misunderstood me.

"The only reason being is that I will gladly do _that_ to you whether we form a contract together or not."

She gaped at me again. The 'o' was now an 'O'. Something besides my tongue would fit quite nicely in there now.

I was getting distracted again. Trying to calm her nerves, I added, "So you see, in the interest of fairness, you cannot count that as a pro."

She cleared her throat now, scratching out the vulgarity. "I'll keep that in mind," she muttered. I believe the correct name is _magenta_? Anyhow, it was a pretty color and it was decorating every inch of her skin that was visible by that time.

"All right, so we have _Oblivion_ and _Loss of Soul Ownership_ in the cons… and _Revenge_ and _My Very Own Butler_ in the pros. It's even."

She stared at the list and frowned.

"What is it, my dear?"

"I'm going to cancel out the loss of soul thing with the getting revenge thing."

"Are you sure? Shouldn't you cancel oblivion with revenge? For that _is_ the contract, at it's heart."

She nodded with finality. "No! Those aren't even at all. I told you, oblivion is… Well. Oblivion is way bigger than that. Besides, it's not like you'd be destroying my soul, you're just gonna _own_ it. Revenge makes for a fair exchange. And if you're promising to kill me gently, it stands to reason that you'll probably _own_ me gently too."

I had to fight to keep from looking shocked. She was already able to see through me, if only just a little bit. So like my young master…

"Yes. That is true."

"And you don't lie."

"I do not, nor will I ever."

"Okay then," she sighed, scratching one clean line through each.

She grew silent.

"Say what are you left with, then."

"My very own Butler… handsome, talented, loyal, efficient… who has suggested that any and all extras would be freely included," she said slyly, eyeing me from under dark lashes. She had leapt over some of her shyness in the most adorable fashion. I bit down on my tongue as I felt my considerable human genitalia harden slightly.

No, I am not exaggerating. I do not do that either.

To be here, to engage in contracts with humans, I have to fashion the human body I'll reside in myself. Making that body _appealing_ is an obvious advantage. So ask yourself, if I expend such effort to make myself a beautiful male, do you think I'd make the mistake of giving myself a tiny prick?

In any case, now was not the time.

"Versus… Oblivion."

She stared at me for a time. I could do no more than stare back.

She shook her head, and gave me a sad, resigned look.

"As appealing as your being my butler is…" She smiled shyly, face reddening again. Clearly she was thinking about the juicier fringe benefits of that arrangement. I knew I was.

"I'm sorry, but it just doesn't stack up to the thought of oblivion. I mean, floating through nothingness while being aware of it? That's horrifying, Alex."

Smart girl. "So the answer is no?"

"I'm afraid it has to be."

I sighed and nodded. I felt disappointed, but obviously she was not stupid. Although… I wished I could give her a sample, just to see if that would turn her.

Oh, I'd turn her. And I'd flip her, and stroke her, and kiss her and plunge into her…

She smiled again, sweet and genuine and such a wonderful prize. Gilda stood up then, prompting me to stand quickly. The barbarians looked at us, probably trying to figure out why I had risen if I wasn't leaving myself, as well. _Plebeians_.

She crossed the wide strap of her bag over her neck and shoulder, swinging the canvas sack to her opposite hip. Clasping the notebook to her breast, she stuck out her hand for a shake.

"Best of luck, Alexander. Promise me you'll never go off your meds, okay?"

I didn't quite understand that.

Taking her hand, I turned it gently and kissed it. While my gloves were still in place, my lips had touched her skin, and skin contact meant I could feel what she felt.

I had surprised her. There was a rush of air when she gasped quietly, then some small tremors as she giggled quietly and her blood quickened. All over.

She tasted so very nice.

"My dear," I said, looking up slyly at her blushing face. I was extremely tempted to flash my bright reptile eyes at her (I had a feeling she'd find them pretty), but I restrained myself. I turned her hand over and kissed the palm this time, one last sweet kiss, then released her. Standing up, I bowed slightly, and I put my hand to my chest over the black button down shirt. "Should you change your mind, promise me that you absolutely _will not_ accept a contract from a demon other than myself."

I shuddered to think what _they_ would do to one so precious.

"I absolutely promise," she said, laughing lightly. The hand I had tasted was tucked against her chest, curled into a little fist, as though protecting the memory of a stranger's sweet kisses.

Really, it was too bad. Was I going soft? Had I not tried hard enough? I don't know.

I probably would have taken my time with her and made the same tragic mistakes I made with Ciel, but still. It was a journey I would have gone on, no matter the odds.

I watched her walk away from me, selfishly hoping for a turn, a smile, a wave. And like a good Austen novel, Gilda did not disappoint.

•

++++++++ _notes ++++++++_

Might continue this, might not.

If you read it, please review it. Thanks! :3


	2. Chapter 2

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Rated M. Things will get bloodier & sexier as we go on.**

Author's notes: This is strictly the Kuroshitsuji _anime_ universe, not the manga. I have taken many, many liberties. Call this artistic license, or AU, or whatever makes you comfy.

Thanks **so much** to those who have reviewed and provided me with some much-much-much-needed encouragement. Obviously I have decided to continue. I have chosen to remain beta-less for this fic, and will remain so. Please forgive any typos.

Before I get into a heated debate with _anyone, _be warned that with this fanfic I am not, repeat, _not_ presenting any suggestions or projecting my own beliefs onto you concerning after-life theories, someone else's religious institution, or lack-there-ofs. This is fiction, that's all.

If you read it, please review it. Thanks! :3

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 2**

•

I have told you about demonic fast food, correct? And how I can no longer can stomach it, and haven't been able to for some time? I haven't really told you all of the reasons why, though. Well, it might interest you to know that I haven't had a decent meal in decades, which is one of the reasons I was so very intent upon striking a deal with the lovely Miss Gilda.

I have had exactly three meals since losing my young master. They were all successful contracts, and two of them were fairly tasty. Not mind-blowingly delicious, like Ciel or Gilda. But nutritious, filling and tasty. I suppose one of the reasons they were not of the highest caliber flavor was that while their demands in the contract were fairly honorable, they were also a bit single-minded. Too much of this silly 'an eye for an eye' ridiculousness, and not enough creative comeuppance.

I get ahead of myself.

Let me elaborate. As I said, I've had exactly three meals since losing Ciel. Do not judge me too harshly, I couldn't help it; I was hungry. They weren't fast food by any means, but they weren't a black-tie affair with all the courses, either.

By the way, speaking of black ties… I look simply juicy in a modern tuxedo. They are one of the better perks of the twentieth century.

Whoopsie, I'm off course again. Apologies. I cannot help it! I am in a gleeful mood. Do let me continue and you will see why.

•

In the year nineteen hundred and twelve on the Western calendar for the human civilization, I contracted with a French-speaking painter from Brussels named Louis DeBrena. He was _enormously_ talented and as poor as dust. Master Louis had belonged to circle of artists of various disciplines, most of them painters or writers. These little groups were all the rage over Europe, and due to that, competition in the art world was much fiercer than your history books would have you believe. Never mind all that _make love not war _bullocks, these folks were ruthless while trying to get ahead. Well, as a rule. DeBrena was a genuinely nice man, which is probably why he got screwed in the first place. Thievery and back-stabbing were common place amongst some of the lesser-known circles, even murder was done.

It was done to Louis DeBrena. Or at least, it had been _attempted_.

DeBrena had dabbled in the occult – not as a practitioner, mind you, but he'd studied it. So in a state of delirium with a mortal stab wound to his stomach, he managed to summon me, and snap! We formed a contract. He wanted revenge on a fellow painter who had stolen not just his life, but his life's work from him.

His story is a sad one, but there are moments of light in it, too.

DeBrena was a homosexual, and was without a doubt the prettiest adult human male I have ever seen. Tall and slender, but well-built (for a man who did not eat regularly), with dark blond hair, coffee brown eyes, great teeth, creamy smooth skin and… Oh, that majestic backside. It was perfectly _clutchable_, I tell you! I mention specifics here just to attempt a picture, but truly it wasn't so much his coloring, or his height or any _one_ thing… it was his entire being. He was well-balanced physically, yes, but also quite an adorable person.

He named me _Lawrence_. In front of others he said I was a distant relative visiting from England, because my being his butler didn't really appeal to his personal politics, which was Socialism. Oh, but Louis was terribly sweet… how nice it felt to lay him out before me like a platter of warm seafood bouchée before ravishing every inch of his delicious body. I placed the contract mark right on the small of his back. (I believe that when a human gets a tattoo in this same spot these days it is referred to as a 'cum shot'? Oh, you kids! Such clever vernacular!) Do believe me when I tell you that I practiced my aim on _that_ target with impunity. It still makes me hard just thinking about sad, sweet Louis.

Oh my, there I go again. I tend to reminisce on the more sentimental histories of my prey when I am in a good mood. Do forgive me.

Where was I? Oh. Oh yes.

Now, DeBrena was closeted, as so many of his fellow homosexuals were back then. Surprising, isn't it? You humans are not exactly an accepting society, even amongst the artistic.

His murderer, Jean Lamonte, was a miserable human being and, to put it bluntly, a dreadful artist. No vision, no fire under his backside, but lots of money in his family, and even more every time he sold a canvas to the plebian benefactors that surrounded him. They were the sort that wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a diamond and a piece of ice on a hot day, but if some artist suddenly became popular, then of course they were deemed talented as well. The unfortunate thing for Lamonte was that he _knew_ he was a hack, and he learned no matter how rich he was, or how well his paintings sold, his work still, and would always, _suck_.

He hated Louis, because while Louis was starving he still managed to paint beautiful, compelling works. So Lamonte decided to blackmail him. He convinced his own cousin to seduce and debase my poor Master Louis six ways from Sunday, then had the cousin turn around and gossip about it to the local paper – and everyone else who would listen for that matter, media whore that he was – about Louis' sexuality. Louis was promptly shunned.

Then Lamonte played savior, offering to buy every painting in Louis's disgustingly small, rat-infested flat, and for no more cash than could get him through a month. The bastard was a skinflint, as well as a liar, snob and murderer. In any case, Louis was too desperate to turn him down, so he took the cash.

Lamonte promptly painted over Louis' signature with his own and claimed the work. His popularity went through the roof. When Louis couldn't take it anymore, he confronted Lamonte, who laughed at him, then grabbed a large, dirty palette knife off a table and plunged it into Louis' belly.

Palette knives are rather dull, you know.

I gave Master Louis a new wardrobe, a new identity, and a fortune. He had the same body, the same face, but money does amazing things to other people's perceptions. No one ever compared _His Honor the Earl Victor Newsted _(I called him 'Vickie' when I buggered him, it made him giggle like mad), to poor dead Louis DeBrena. He bought back all his paintings, and together we exposed Lamonte as the fraud and the murderer he was. That piece of scum was jailed and sentenced to death. Louis was now in a unique position; he had the opportunity to watch as his own paintings garnered accolades while he was still, technically, alive.

As a freebie for Louis, I goaded Lamonte into committing suicide before they could hang him. Ah, the good old days, before security alarms and jailhouse surveillance cameras. It was _fun_.

Well, you should know that even as I had become very attached to _Vickie_ and the delightful things we did to each other in his feather bed, fulfilling his contract still came relatively easy to me. As I said, he was not fast food… but neither was he filet mignon.

I consumed him when the contract was fulfilled, and my sweet Louis went without a fight. He was content with his reward and smart enough to simply submit to my will. As he floated through the silence of oblivion, he seemed at peace. I fed on him, as is my right, and I bled his soul dry until it was a husk.

Despite my complete and total disclosure about what it means to contract with me, you humans still accept the terms. You will _wither_ inside me. And the weaker your imagination, the faster all the black nothingness will rot your mind like compost.

You didn't know that, did you? Have I frightened you? Honestly, I cannot fathom why you are so surprised. I may be utterly charming, but at the end of the day I am still a _demon_… remember?

Even the most delicious souls decay. I will say this though; they last a hell of a lot longer. I cannot even imagine how long I would have tasted Ciel within me until he faded. _He_ might not have _ever_ faded, not completely. Had I consumed Ciel as originally planned, I might not have ever needed to feed again. I cannot even imagine that – what it would feel like to be free from hunger?

•

The next soul was an American woman named Linda Smith. Miss Linda was a boring middle class secretary who would have been a full-fledged accountant were it not for two things, World War II and the Old Boy's Club.

Linda had a penchant for charity and a mind for numbers. She could have easily been an investment banker or a money launderer. But, men were going off to war so the women were asked to rivet planes together, pass out donuts, work for the military. The cultural timing was atrocious and any career she may have had was doomed because of it.

Due to her skill set, however, she managed to work her way up the secretarial chain in the Army's War Finance Division, and wound up as the personal secretary to a rather assertive Colonel. One that assertively raped her after only a few months in his employ.

Linda, who never had any interest in marriage, now found herself single and pregnant in a society that simply did not accept such things. She had very little income set aside to begin with, but when the good Colonel discovered she was carrying his baby, he dismissed her as a whore and fired her on the spot. Left with no choice, she went to a seedy doctor for an abortion, and the procedure nearly killed her. She was terrified, that's to be expected, but she was incredibly angry as well. Her soul demanded revenge in its darkest hour, and snap! I came to her side, presented my terms and she accepted them. The mark was placed behind her left ear and neatly covered up with her hairstyle. Strong, yet practical… just like Linda.

Sometimes, I wonder if the quality of the life that had been led before is what ends up being the strongest catalyst in contract making. That can't be said of Ciel, of course, but think about that one… Would a human with even a passably decent life really, _truly_ want to have her soul up and devoured? Linda Smith's life had been one long remarkable disappointment, as had Louis DeBrena's, and mostly because they were painfully aware of their potential only to have circumstances choke the life out of it. They were rendered impotent, but they _still knew_ they had what it takes to be a success. I find that idea maddening. By the time I entered their lives, they probably felt as though they weren't gambling with anything significant with regard to their souls, and just said _yes, I'll do it._ It's a sobering thought. Heartbreaking even, but I think that's the reason.

There was no sexual activity with Linda. She simply wasn't interested. In many ways, that made her one of my most difficult marks, because with the absence of a physical attraction to me comes more work to get my clients to do what _I _want them to. Louis was easy in that regard – I'd put my lips to his ear and my hands to his cock, and he'd agree to whatever I suggested – all in the name of fulfilling our contract, of course. But with Linda, I had to learn a new tack.

After the obligatory fortune and new identity, Miss Linda gave me the role of her 'personal assistant', citing that "no one is going to believe that a single gal from the Midwest has a _butler_, Diddums."

She named me _Diddums_. I didn't mind. She had cats.

Linda made me drive her around so she could perform charitable acts until her contract was fulfilled. It was kind of rewarding in its own way, bashing about in a nice car and throwing money at sick orphans and wounded veterans. They smiled at me. They _thanked_ me. I began to enjoy it.

But at some point in her service I realized what she was turning me into – through no fault of her own, incidentally, because Miss Linda really was that generous a person – so I knew I had to tie that one up before I started wearing her skirts and kissing flowers.

We destroyed the Colonel's good name. Like Jean Lamonte before him, the Colonel also went to prison. Per Linda's terms, I hogtied him, raped the shit out him, and left him crying on the floor of his filthy cell.

I told you, when it comes down to it, there's all that _an eye for an eye_ philosophy with you humans. She was a bit put out when it was finally over. She never cared for the fake celebrity that came with our Rainbow Tour, but she was thrilled with the charity part. Eventually I appealed to her sense of fair play and once she admitted that a deal is a deal, she sat still for me as I took her in. Her soul lasted longer than Louis DeBrena's, but still, it was not long enough.

•

In nineteen sixty-seven, my tummy began to grumble again, and so I started searching through the files, hoping against hope that I'd find another Ciel. They had been decent enough prey but I really didn't want to eat another Louis or Linda.

I stumbled across a suicide risk, a fourteen-year-old boy named Tomas Solomon who wanted to be a writer. He was the only child of a Jewish father and a Spanish mother. They were disgustingly wealthy, horrible materialistic and permanently annoyed by the needs of a child. You know what it is I refer to, silly human needs – like food, security and affection.

Honestly, _why_ do some of you make children if you aren't planning on enjoying them?

As a result of their indifference they shipped their son off to an exclusive all-boys prep school in Switzerland where the sensitive young man was bullied on a daily basis. Tommy attempted suicide, and snap! Contract, mark, buttling, revenge.

All he wanted me to do was bully the boys who had bullied him, and he gave me carte blanche on that. I was not gentle. Tommy watched while I obtained his revenge, but he was so apathetic about his own dreadful existence he couldn't even manage a modicum of satisfaction.

I should have known better, _really_ I should. Tommy had named me _John_.

YAWN.

His soul didn't even last a decade inside me. I made a promise to myself that I wasn't going to do another one, ever again, even if it meant I starved to death, not unless it was a damnable _feast_. And that is why I was so upset with myself for not trying harder with Miss Gilda.

•

This is where my tale catches up to the present. I was very bored… leaning back in my creaky heat-resistant office chair, _daring_ it to collapse under me… knowing full well it would be years, possibly several decades, before the file of another worthy soul crossed my desk.

Which is why I was shocked and thoroughly _delighted_ to hear the weakened but determined voice of one Miss Gilda Franks softly crying a name over and over.

Alexander, she was saying. Alexander, Alexander…

Despite the extreme need for haste, and my prey's obvious physical pain, I grinned. No further encouragement necessary, I popped out of existence in my world and into yours, concentrating hard so as to locate Gilda's soon-to-be-corpse as quickly as possible.

_Alexander_. It is not my true name, mind you. A human isn't even physically able to pronounce that… but Alexander is a lovely name. Made even lovelier by the quiet, needy desperation in Gilda's melodic voice. It got weaker and quieter each time the little minx managed to say it, but that didn't matter one bit. This was something only I was meant to hear, and it was as loud and as clear as if she had been screaming it out in ecstasy, her pretty pink lips less than an inch from my pointy ear.

The lovely Miss Gilda, now at the ripe old age of twenty, was fading quickly due to blunt force trauma to her rib cage. Having learned that very difficult lesson with Ciel's untimely death, I hurried to her side before it was truly too late, and – yes indeed, _snap!_ – I got to her on time.

I know it's inappropriate behavior for a butler… but, I have snatched the golden ring. I won the lottery. I'm downright _giddy!_

•

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix own these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Rated M. Take that seriously, please. **

Author's notes: This is strictly the Kuroshitsuji _anime_ universe, not the manga. I have taken many, many liberties. Call this artistic license, or AU, or whatever makes you comfy.

Chapter two was… intentionally short & depressing. This one is, hopefully, _not_.

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 3**

•

"Hello, _Mistress_," I purred.

I had to keep reminding myself to keep my gleefulness in check, but it was very, very difficult.

Gilda was still in the hospital; my magic ability to heal her only going so far enough to secure she was alive and healthy enough fulfill the contract. She was still quite damaged, but it was no longer immediately life threatening. The 'blunt force trauma' to her chest would have been the cause of her death. But the moment I got to her I learned there was much more. I had to act quickly to mark her for the contract or I could not alleviate at least some of her intense pain, let alone save her for dinner. I was going to lose her.

It turns out my worries were unfounded because it only took her point-seven-five seconds to agree.

I will admit that I had broken the rules _ever_ so slightly when I approached her three years ago. Without an impending death and a formal request for demonic help, we can do nothing to change people's lives. But, as I said, I peruse the files. I sift through mountains of paperwork to find the potential Ciel-like souls. After the disaster with Tomas Solomon, I decided I also needed to _meet_ them first. I needed to get close enough to know if my suspicions were accurate, to smell them, to learn their mindset, to test their blood. When I realized I had hit the jackpot with Gilda Franks, the only thing I could do to help my cause at that point was to make a memorable first impression (and obviously I did) and leave her with a suggestion that would, hopefully, linger on in her beautiful brain. Should the right circumstances ever present themselves, my chances would be quite a bit better than if we had never before spoken.

"… _promise me that you absolutely **will not** accept a contract from a demon other than myself."_

Ah, seduction. It works like a charm.

As she looked up at me, angry and broken, she asked for three things; _One_, that I buttle for her, as discussed that day at the café, so that she could complete her studies at the music conservatory she was still struggling to attend; _two_, that I, in the mean time, secure her revenge, which was to destroy her father's multi-billion dollar corporation and leave him penniless; and _three,_ after consuming her soul, I was to carry out the instructions in her last will and testament to the letter.

I'd never before been asked to do something that would complete the contract _after_ eating the mark's actual soul, but then life is full of surprises, isn't it? Technically, I could agree to her terms and never bother with fulfilling that part – the very nature of the pact I make with humans ensures that the contract is completed once I consume them. I could go on my merry way and not bat a single long, silky eyelash at her last wishes.

However… that would not be honorable at all. If I could not perform such a simple thing, what kind of a butler would I be? In any case, it was what she asked for and it's well within my power to grant such a wish, so I agreed.

That last two parts sounded easy. Honestly, the _buttling_ part was going to be harder than the actual revenge, but I'm looking forward to it! I can hardly wait to see the blinding glare of sterling cutlery, smell the starch of crisp table linens and feel the weight of a polished brass door handle in my palm as I greet the many and varied visitors who have the nerve call on my new Mistress, and then rip them apart. Should she order me to do so.

To continue, after we made our agreement, Gilda's fatal chest trauma became broken ribs. The rape I could do nothing for, but her broken jaw was now a severely split lip, and a bone break in her left thigh was badly strained quadriceps and hamstrings. All painful, but quite manageable.

Now, the broken ribs meant that I could not seduce and have sex with her for some time. That was a disadvantage for me but I'd get by. The lip was worse. It would be close to a month's time before I could even steal a proper kiss. Aside from the obvious power that I wield over my prey when I care to get affectionate with them, well… I _like_ kissing, you see. So very tasty.

The leg muscles were a different situation, however, and one that I was looking _forward_ to dealing with. She would be bed-ridden for a spell, and therefore at my mercy. I now had the opportunity to treat her like a queen, thereby ensuring she understood just how loyal I can, and _will_ be, and as a result she will adore me. Furthermore, I know she will thoroughly enjoy it when I apply liniments and oils to her thigh and perform deep tissue massaging on it during her in-home physical therapy. I'm thrilled that particular injury was to her leg and not her arm or hand – for one thing, she is a pianist, and for another, the massaging the thigh gets me closer to the panties, which just may have to be removed lest they get stained.

With the liniment, that is.

I _told_ you I was gleeful.

Her attack was nothing more than misfortune on her part. Poor Miss Gilda had simply found herself defenseless and in the wrong place at the wrong time. Granted, I enjoy seeing my prey suffer sometimes… All right, that isn't exactly honest. I should say I enjoy watching them, on occasion, _struggle_. For instance, the way Master Ciel struggled with being treated like a child while he performed the work of an adult. It made me giggle on occasion as it often led to him losing his temper, and that was just so very cute to witness.

However, even _I _have my limits as to how much of that sort of thing I can witness. Even after saving Gilda from death by partially curing her injuries, seeing her in such pain was unbearable, so I conceded to take the poor young woman to a hospital and I allowed human doctors to work their own brand of magic.

I do not like hospitals. The smell is nauseating; I do not know what is worse about it, the sharpness of the chemicals and medicines or the putrid rank of disease and bodily death. I was not going to be able to stay by her side with that smell crawling up my nose for too long given how agitated I was on top of everything else.

Why was I agitated? Well…

After having thoroughly sniffed Miss Gilda in places that would have made her blush had she been awake to experience it, I had her attacker's scent. I got her to the emergency room of the nearest hospital and ensured she was in good hands, and then left to locate her attacker and proceeded to scare him to death. _Literally_.

No, it wasn't part of our contract… So, _yes_, I broke another rule. I was simply too angry to control myself that someone, _anyone_, demon or otherwise, had sullied my precious prize. After all, it had taken me ages to find her, and, more importantly, sullying Gilda was now _my_ job.

Now, to be very clear: yes, I slowly turned her attacker into a steaming pile of inside-out goo, and I said that it was her bad luck that he'd hurt her in the first place. But to be honest… Oh, dear. I really shouldn't say. But truthfully I should have _thanked_ the lad! The brutal rape was unnecessary in my opinion – I mean _really_, you humans, you can be so very vile – but the fact of the matter is it was my good fortune that he had beaten her to what would have been her death. Not that I'll ever admit that to Gilda. If she knew I actually felt that way I'd _never_ be able to remove her panties, and that'd be bad for business.

So, after killing the _nut-job,_ I returned to her side and endured the smells. It wasn't so bad as long as I stayed in her private room and concentrated on her scent. It was still off, but I would certainly fix that.

Can you imagine my surprise when that wretched Undertaker showed up – and as a modern county coroner no less? He was disappointed that Gilda had no work for him because of my "filthy demonic interference". He'd giggled as he'd said it – I ask you, what in the bloody hell is _wrong_ with him? I wanted him gone, so I politely told him to sod off, and that Gilda was mine, thank you very much, and it would be a very long time before she was in need of _his _services.

Then _he_ politely reminded _me_ that dragging my heels with the Earl of Phantomhive was precisely what led me to losing him in the first place. I glared at his back when he finally left. Faugh! The _Undertaker_, I tell you. That lab coat-wearing ID-badged freak of nature, defecating in my hard-won basket of glee.

And now, thanks to mister Nosy Parker, it was only a matter of time before Grell Sutcliffe overheard the news that I had a fresh mark on a rare, delicious soul, and the flaming red tornado would return, trying to steal my prize and stuff his face down my trousers.

•

It was now several hours later and Gilda was finally awake, and I felt a strange sense of relief to see her open her eyes. My mistress, _my_ _delicious_ _meal_, was safe.

"Alex…?" She tried to focus on me as her voice broke with lack of use and dehydration. Gently, I pressed a glass of cool water to her lips and she drank. I watched her throat as she swallowed greedily, beautiful tendons and muscles working and convulsing together, alive, _mine, _and once again I suppressed a giggle as I couldn't believe my luck.

She noticed my smile and frowned up at me when she pushed the glass away, indicating she'd had enough.

"Why are you so happy?"

"I am happy to see you again, Miss Gilda Franks. I am relieved you are alive. I am _ecstatic_ that you thought to call for me in your hour of need." I sat next to her on the hospital bed, brushing the hair from forehead. Humans like that.

"Oh. Okay. So all those black feathers… The glowing eyes and the forked tail, those _heels_… You mean to tell me that shit _wasn't_ a dream where I was idealizing Dr. Frank-N-Furter?"

I had no knowledge of this physician she referred to, but I pressed on. "Well, no, it wasn't." She raised her eyebrows. I needed to defuse the situation quickly, lest Gilda's substantially secular thoughts go off on a tangent about God and demons and the afterlife and all that rot. Hopefully, she'd just accept the situation so that we could move forward.

"That was my true form, yes. The tail is a new addition, as it happens! I've only just let it grow. Tell me, did you like it? Was it too much black? Was it _me?_"

She took a breath, eyeing me speculatively. "You really _are_ a demon, then?"

Ah, good. She's on board. And with all the extras as well, no doubt.

"Yes, Mistress. Do you believe me now?"

Gilda reached down to where her contract mark danced a perfect circle around her navel under the atrocious hospital gown.

_Well at the least she remembers our little talk in the alley._

"It still tingles," she whispered up at me, rubbing her stomach through the thin fabric.

Gods above and below, who on earth still thinks that _mauve_ is a good color for clothing? I simply couldn't wait to get that rag off of my mistress and start dressing her precious body in all the designer clothing I had yet to buy! So much to do! So much preparation!

Yes, we are tamping the glee down. _Again. _

"I'm afraid it will tingle for some time my dear. It will never fully stop being sensitive until our business with each other is done, but it _will_ lessen." I frowned, then added, "It… it doesn't _hurt_, does it?"

"No," she croaked, then added miserably, "And it's the only part of me that _doesn't_."

I smiled, placing my gloved hand over hers, feeling the fresh bond of the contract mark vibrating quietly underneath, right though the flesh, blood and bones of her talented hand. I rubbed tiny circles on her knuckles with my thumb, cooing, "There, there…" She whimpered some, then cried a little. I was positive it was not because of me.

I let her have her little moment of weakness. She was after all, still in a great deal of pain and hadn't even begun to deal with the emotional trauma of what had happened to her. I knew she remembered our deal making, but I was not sure how much of the actual attack she remembered, or even if she knew she had been raped.

Perhaps now was not the time. She'd find out, or be told, or remember, all soon enough. And when that happens, I'll be right by her side, supporting her, just like now.

When she was done with her crying jag, I wiped her pretty face clean with a soft, wet cloth – having to refrain from using my tongue instead. I shall remind you one last time; One hell of a butler… and a _demon. _

It was time to start wheedling my way into her heart. "By the way, Miss Gilda, does your forehead hurt?" She eyed me again, obviously still trying to work me out.

"No… it's fine. Why?"

I smiled at her, and leaned in close. Her eyes widened in apprehension slightly, but her smell did not reek of fear. "So that I can do this," I said quietly, and kissed her forehead.

Oh… _there it was_. Hiding under all the acrid medicines running through her blood and the antiseptic smell that had settled on her skin. Pure Essence of Gilda Franks. It rose up then, growing stronger with my flirtatious affection and permeated my senses through my slightly open mouth – a mouth that refused to leave her skin. I found myself wanting to take a very large bite, but I pulled away before I lost all control, smirking and licking my lips.

She looked up at me, blushing – _Oh! how I have __**missed**__ thee, magenta_ – and very confused. I wasn't about to explain myself. "I need to have a discussion with your doctor. We need to get you home as soon as possible so that I can nurse you back to health and get your normal activities back on their proper track."

"Don't I have to see a police officer… make a statement or something?"

"There isn't really a need for that. I can tell them that you don't want to make one and that all you want is for your butler to take you home. Miss Gilda, your attacker had fled the scene before I got to you… _and_, he will never be found now anyway." I tilted my head at her and decided to test her strength. You may think it cruel of me, but I do hate waiting. "Having them run a – what did they call it? A _rape kit?_ Doing that is entirely your decision, but I can tell you that since he is no longer alive to be jailed, it will only result in more pain for you."

"Oh…" she muttered, looking down. Whether it was mixed emotions at the knowledge that I had already killed for her, or confirmation that she had indeed been violated sexually, I could not be sure. More than likely it was both. In any case, there were no more tears and I was very proud of my new Mistress for that.

•

"_This_ is where you live?" I asked, disgusted.

Two days went by with Gilda confined to the hospital for 'observation'. I probably could have left her there to start making arrangements for her fabulous new life, but after the encounter with the Undertaker, I simply did not trust to leave her alone. _Oh well, _more buttling for me!

While Gilda slept and gained some strength, I asked after her physician – the one with the unfortunate name like breakfast meat. Oddly enough, the nurses gave me some very displeased looks and I never did locate him. I was finally able to corner the presiding physician and convinced him to release Gilda, so I could take her home. I decided to start with what she had, and go from there. Little did I know that she had so very… _little_.

I'd hired a cab to drive us to her place of residence. I got her out of the cab easily enough. She put her arms around my neck as I picked her up, and I noted that she smelled so much more like herself, which did wonders for my mood. She also did not seem to have any apprehension at all about me touching her, or her touching me in kind. This was a plus. Gently, I put her into the wheel chair, and then pushed her into the building. We took the elevator to her tiny fifth-floor apartment.

Her living situation was a disaster. This wasn't going to work, and I could remedy it easily enough, but I had to be careful about how I approached it, how I approached _Gilda_, specifically.

Ciel had been an ingrate at first, citing that the sheer unbelievable nature of me snapping my fingers and him suddenly having a completely restored estate was _too suspicious_ and would simply_ raise too many questions._ I remember how angry he had made me. Now, I do confess I was expecting nothing less of Ciel to get down on his knees and suckle me – what do you call it? A blowjob? Yes, I think that's right. Nut-job, blowjob, oh you humans are _so_ clever. In any case I expected one as thanks. Obviously that did not happen, but I was, at least, hoping for the words 'excellent work, Sebastian' to come out of his pretty little mouth. Instead I was practically slapped in the face.

It got much worse before it got only marginally better… As his butler, I had to learn how to make delicious human food, not simply handle and prepare the raw ingredients until they looked pretty. I had to learn that the temperature of water that was acceptable for a human bath and a pot of tea were _not _the same – _that_ made for an interesting evening!

I wasn't alone in my naiveté. Ciel had to yet to grasp basic manners, let alone the propriety that his position as Earl of Phantomhive had been very difficult for both my master and myself, but we did, eventually, work things out. Now that I know better, now that I already know exactly how to perform the duties of one hell of a butler, I wanted to use that knowledge to avoid any such conflicts with Gilda. But how far she would go in letting me fix things quickly, I did not yet know.

"_Yeah_, Alex, this is where I live… I may be a musical prodigy but I'm still poorer n' _shit_, remember?" There was a note of irritation to her voice.

I reminded myself to tread _carefully_. I decided to try appealing to her through something I already knew about her, that I could use against her… that deep sense of justice.

"You deserve much better than this filthy hole, Mistress. And I can give that to you, if you will allow it."

"How?" she asked as I picked her up out of the wheelchair and set her down on her used, dirty couch. Her voice sounded incredulous, just like it had been at the café three yeas ago, but now it was laced with a bitterness as well. The sort of vitriol that can only be forged by hard knocks. I didn't want that bitterness to go any further than it already had.

I glanced down at the used coffee table in front of the couch. There before me was a long piece of canvas, with thick, shiny paint decorating it in a distinct pattern. When it dawned on me that the strip of canvas was a perfect match to the keys of a piano, I knew how bad off she really was financially. She didn't even have a piano to practice on at home… she had been sitting on the carpet in front of the coffee table, writing her symphony and striking imaginary keys… hearing the music only in her head. Like Beethoven.

I simply _had_ to upgrade her living arrangements.

Getting down on my knees, I looked in her eyes and took her hands in mine.

"You need to concentrate on your studies in order to fulfill one part of our contract – completing your studies, yes? And _I_ need to create an environment where you can do just that – so that _you_ will not worry about _my_ end of the contract. Also, for me to do my part, I simply need more resources than what you have here."

She narrowed her eyes at me. "What do you have in mind?"

"Let me go out for the night. I will find what I need and come get you in the morning. In the meantime, pack whatever you wish to take with us." I sneered as I said it, looking around the room. There couldn't possible _be_ anything in the apartment she'd miss.

"You aren't going to kill anyone in the process."

"No, I don't think that will be necessary."

"That wasn't a question, Alex."

I smirked at her. "Oh, yes. I see. Miss Gilda, I'm afraid that when you give orders, they will have to be indentified as such."

She paused, looking snide. "Are you kidding me?"

"No. I don't do that – well, _much_ of that, either. I guarantee you will know when I am kidding. And teasing. And flirting." I smiled sweetly. Gilda sighed.

"All right. In procuring what you need to perform your duties as my butler and to fulfill our contract, I _order_ you," and here she rolled her eyes and it was _so_ terribly fetching, "not to kill anyone or anything in the process."

I winced.

"Oh, Jesus Christ... what _now?"_

"I'm afraid I probably _will_ have to exterminate plant life, insects or vermin. And that would be killing a 'thing', as you put it."

"Bugs. I am perfectly okay with you killing any and all bugs. And rats. Mice, not so much, 'cause they are kind of cute, but if you gotta, okay. Bats, snakes, skunks, if you must, yes... as for 'plant life'. Well, I don't have to like it but... as long as they are _not_ endangered."

I didn't know she was such an environmentalist. What a nuisance.

"Anything else, Mistress?"

She glanced up at me, biting the inside of her cheek. Good Lord, she was pouting.

"Mistress?"

"Bunnies," she finally admitted. "I like bunnies. _Don't_ kill any bunnies. Or deer. Or doggies. Or foxes. Or – ooh! Or stray cats! Kill no cats! Got it?"

Cats.

_She liked cats._

Mmmmm…

•

"Holy crap."

I lifted Gilda out of the back seat of her limo, and helped her stand to take a good look at her new property. I cradled her waist in one arm to support her, and I was grateful that she leaned right into my side, no hesitation at being close. That was a good sign.

"This… this is where you _live?"_

"It is _your_ residence_,_ Mistress," I corrected gently. "All yours."

She looked the pristine brick manor up and down, perhaps not yet believing it was her home. "Huh. I had no idea they tore down the old Wrigley place and built a new house over it. How can you afford this?"

"I didn't have to. They didn't build it. This estate and the grounds it is on have been up for sale for decades. They were selling it as is, and it was inexpensive, considering. After I found the property, I..."

Oh dear. How _was_ I going to put this? I didn't kill anyone, just as I had promised her. Still…

"Well, Miss Gilda, shall we say… I simply _convinced_ the real estate agent that you had already purchased it, and I had the paperwork secured from him within three-quarters of an hour. Then I returned here, and restored the manor and grounds last night as you slumbered."

"You…" She glanced over at me, looking slightly worried. Oh, dear. I hoped she wasn't going to berate me like Ciel did. What a bad start that would be. "No one got hurt, right?"

"Not a single, solitary scratch on him. You have my word," I said, placing my free hand over my black heart. Oh, this new age and all its laws! Killing people to get what I wanted was not so easy anymore. It was going to be damn tricky to work around, but I _would_ find my way.

In any case, it was the truth, I never touched that real estate agent. The man's psyche, however, won't be recovering so soon. Gilda needn't know that. The poor dear had enough to concern herself with for now. Like getting healthy, so that… Oh, how had she put it when we first met three year ago? _Fuck me silly for free?_ I believe that was what she had written on her charming little list of pros and cons. So many succulent things to look forward to…

"You _made_ this? How?"

I smiled down at her sympathetically. She needed a hot breakfast, a bath, and a bed to begin recuperating in. But first I needed to give her a treat, something to make her see that these little talents of mine were hers to use as she saw fit, right up until the moment I ate her soul. Something that would _endear_ me to her. Something personal.

"What sort of tree is your favorite, Miss Gilda?"

"Um… what?"

"What is your favorite tree? It's a simple question."

"All right, all right. I like Japanese maples the best."

I snapped my gloved fingers, and poof! The long, paved drive was artfully lined on either side with countless varieties of mature, beautifully cultivated Japanese Maples, starting at the yard in front of the manor, all the way down to the security gate at the road. There were Dwarf Variegated Butterflies, Green Cascades, and Red Filigree Lace just to name a few… but my personal favorite, for obvious reasons, was the _Bloodgood. _

Her new trees stood their ground as though they had been there for several decades. It was mid-September and the foliage was just starting to turn. The morning sun beat down on us from a clear blue sky, and everywhere you looked you saw brilliant hues of maroon, wine, pink, red, orange, gold…

These were only trees. If I was lucky, her taste in everything else was just as good. And I must admit… my handiwork, when not being _criticized_ by a bratty, precocious young man, could be spectacular. I certainly hoped my new mistress was going to let me have the run of the place in that regard.

Gilda had fallen quiet and I looked down at her. Eyes-wide as she stared at her beautiful new trees, she was making that 'o' again with her no-doubt delicious mouth. My thoughts turned indecent for a moment – honestly, how _could_ I help myself? – then I got back on track. There was, after all, so much to do!

She elicited a small, adorable squeak as I picked her up in my arms and headed to the front door. "Um… are you actually carrying me over the threshold, Alexander?" She said, giggling as we entered her new home. "Isn't that, like, what honeymooners do?"

_Finally_. Something I could work with.

"If you say so, my dear Mistress."

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it. Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Rated M. **

• **Flying beta-less. Forgive the typos.**

Author's Notes: As this story has progressed, I have found myself adding in scenes that make reference to the manga as well as the anime. Sorry about that. I decided a little while back to stop berating myself for how my brain works (at least on a creative level), and to go with what it gives me. This chapter owes a nod to the manga, especially Chapter 62: That Butler, Growth (which can be found online at various sites already translated into English). Poor Sebbie. Always having to adapt…. _Heeee_.

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 4**

•

"Mistress… What on _earth_ are you doing?"

Our first night in the manor had gone relatively well. I gave her some of the pain killing medicine prescribed by her doctor at the hospital, and I dare say she was too far gone under their influence to protest, much less be _aware_ of, what I was doing when I gave her a sponge bath on her new bed. I had her dressed in a new pair of silk pajamas and under the covers fast asleep by seven p.m., which was helpful to me as I continued setting up her new home throughout the night. Gilda stayed quiet most of the night, whimpering only once or twice. I checked on her immediately, but she was sleeping soundly each time.

Now, at six o'clock in the morning the following day, I entered the kitchen to discover that she had somehow gotten herself out of bed, hobbled downstairs on her bad leg, and had been poking around in the cupboards.

By the way, I'd _heard_ her, of course. Don't get all up in arms, I wouldn't have let her fall down the stairs! After all, if she dies now before I can extract and consume her soul, she goes straight to Hell. More to the point, _I go hungry. _Can't have that, now can we? Heh.

"Um… I'm making a pot of coffee?"

Detestable drink. I _despise_ coffee. I only stocked the damnable stuff because, well… it was _America._ You people wouldn't know a decent cup of tea if it stood up, sang _Rule Britannia, _and leapt down your throat.

She'd managed to get a container of Arabica beans down from the top of a cupboard on her own with the help of a stool, though I know not how she did so without falling down and hurting herself further. She would have gotten as far as brewing the black sludge had she not dropped the machine's carafe and broken it. There was shattered glass all over the kitchen floor. There she stood, leaning up against the counter, gripping the edge and frozen in place in her bare feet.

It was going to be a long haul.

In any case, since I knew there were some things she was going to have to get used to, I decided to use this little moment as an excuse to teach her a thing or two.

"You most certainly are _not,"_ I snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly as I saw her wince. I strode over to her, my perfectly polished black Italian leather shoes crunching bits of glass beneath them as I went. Without another word, I picked her up in my arms and we left the kitchen.

"I don't know what I am more upset with your for, trying to get out of bed and come downstairs on your own with your injuries still an issue, or nearly cutting the bottoms of your feet to shreds while doing a task that is _my_ responsibility!" I said with venom.

_Honestly_, did she not have a single concept of what it meant to have a butler?

Gilda remained quiet, holding on to me tightly and staring at my face as I continued my lecture, all the way up the stairs and into her bedroom. She was in a t-shirt and 'blue jean' shorts, so she'd managed to dress herself before coming down – if you consider that sort of thing 'clothing'. I know _I_ don't.

Her bed was still turned down, because of course she hadn't made it, so I slipped her right back into it. "Take off those deplorable things immediately. That cannot be comfortable clothing for bed." Ducking her head from my cold gaze, she unzipped her shorts and began to pull them off. She was moving very slow, and it wasn't just because her leg and ribs still hurt.

She didn't want to undress in front of me.

Oh, we had so much work in front of us. Exasperated, I leaned over and brushed her hands away. She stiffened up for a moment as I gently began to pull the ugly garment from her person with much more efficiency. I decided to ignore her apprehension about what I was doing, and continued to let her know how things were going to go.

"You need only say my name – the name _you_ have given me, may I remind you. What did you think that was for? I will hear it, Miss Gilda, no matter how far away I am, and I will come to your side." Leaving her in her t-shirt and panties, I pulled the covers back up over her. "Whether I am down the hall, or on the other side of the planet, I will hear it. I will _come_. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"You need but give me an order, and I will do your bidding. Do you understand?"

Again, she nodded.

I stood up straight with my fists on my hips, satisfied that she would stay put.

"Making coffee is not your responsibility, it is _mine_, Mistress. In fact, _all_ the menial tasks in your life are _my_ responsibility, as well as most of the major ones. I am to _buttle_ for you. You do not need to manage your household, _I do_. You do not cook, do laundry, drive, or clean. You do not worry about your revenge concerning your father's investment firm. Your only responsibilities are to yourself – playing and writing your music, completing your studies, enjoying your status. Are we clear on that?"

She paused, looking at me with wide eyes, then finally, nodded once again.

I think I may have frightened her a little bit. It was just as well!

I came back up to her room some time later and found she hadn't tried to exit the bed again, which I was thankful for. I brought her a cup of coffee – _disgusting, sacrilegious beverage –_ and a breakfast of fresh melon and citrus, whole wheat toast and a poached egg, all of which was politely organized with her utensils and a linen napkin on a polished silver tray, with the morning paper on the side.

It was a thing of beauty, my first real act of service in several years and I'd lost none of my talent… and _she_ looked at all of it as though she'd never seen breakfast before in her life.

_Bother. _

I'd hoped that my little lecture would have been sufficient to help her understand my place in her new home… and _hers. _

I wasn't even close.

Gilda, it turned out, was proving to have some difficulty with the way I wanted to handle things.

She also wasn't as easy a mark where sex was concerned now that we were living under the same roof. Perhaps it was because she was three years older than when I'd first met her – what a thrush she had been back then! Young, melodic, vibrant. I knew _that_ Gilda was still in there. It would become my personal mission to make her whole again. Make her happy and fulfilled.

Tasty.

Yes, yes. I am sure that you know my priorities in securing Gilda's contentedness have a hidden agenda – a desired outcome that only I see the benefits in. We've been over this; I will not apologize for my demonic nature.

Keep in mind that I realized her recent rape was playing a part in her reluctance to get closer to me. But there were moments when she was downright uncooperative, and I believe that has more to do with her age and the struggles she had encountered in her life, the bitterness that I had mentioned earlier, than how she was violated. Now she truly was reminding me of Ciel. As with my former Master, I wanted very much to put her in her place – but Gilda was _not_ a twelve-year-old boy.

No matter how angry she made me on occasion, I could not simply take her by the throat and insist that she see things my way. For one thing, that would have been unmannerly, but for another… Well, Gilda was an adult now. She had her own expectations out of her daily life. I soon began to realize that I would need to submit to her will in some areas of our day-to-day existences in order for me to succeed.

I was prepared to do that, of course… but little did I know just how _much_ of it I was going to have to do.

•

From the first moment she'd laid eyes on the new piano I'd gotten her, she wanted to get down from my arms and play something.

Aside from that lavish, brand new bed in her upstairs bedroom, the piano was the only other piece of furniture I had personally purchased the same morning I had brought her home. Those two pieces were the only ones I absolutely had to have in place before I brought her into her new home.

The piano would hold her greatest joy, and the bed – later, _hopefully_ – would hold _mine_.

I'd had the grand piano express-delivered to her new residence and tuned on site before I even picked her up. On top of the cost of the piano itself, I had to pay a small fortune for this to happen at five in the morning. _No matter. _Many more items were scheduled to arrive later that very day; clothes, furniture, draperies, kitchen supplies – amazing, your human 'internet!' It had only been around for a short time, but merchants everywhere had taken advantage of it. You can spend a great fortune in less than a few hours, and at three o'clock in the a.m. no less! Delightful! I would deal with the bills that were sure to arrive later, but what an amazing time-saver.

At present, the manor was still bare inside, with the exception of her bed waiting for her upstairs and that majestic instrument. It had held her so captive, resting in the front salon, awash in the morning light, beckoning her… I nearly burst out of my pants at her reaction to the thing!

She had cried.

_Success!_

I insisted she was still too wounded to work yet, but I assured her that the day would soon come when she'd be up and about, composing to her heart's content. She had pouted slightly then, lower lip jutting out around those wonderfully salty tears of joy, so I sat down on the piano's bench and let her caress the keys for a bit. When she was satisfied that her new toy was indeed _not_ an illusion, Gilda leaned back into my embrace and there were fresh tears in her eyes. I wiped them away gently and she gave me the sweetest look I had seen on her face thus far. She hugged me fiercely about my neck, saying _thank you_ _Alexander_ around her distinctly feminine sobs.

Have I mentioned how very beguiling that sound is to the male human body? I forgot just how alluring it was, as I suddenly felt a great need within me to _hold_ and _mend_ and _caress_ and _**claim**_.

I was going to have to get used to that sort of thing all over again. I was going to have to learn to _control my reaction_ to that sort of thing. I found I had to suppress an intense craving to take her mouth in my own, still-split lips be damned. The blood on them had coagulated, but _oh_… it would still be so very delectable… In any case, I gave her the accepted polite response to her gratitude and stood up quickly, lest she begin to notice the abrupt hardness in my nether regions.

_Too soon for that, Demon. Too soon._

Still, I had to remember this moment. That piano would prove to be her Achilles heel.

I moved on from the salon quickly, and she asked to get down again. I insisted that she was simply to damaged and weak, and that it was nothing for me to carry her throughout the entire house to help familiarize her with her surroundings. It was still an empty shell, but it would soon be a home. Her home.

_Our _home. For a time, anyway.

•

My happiness was short lived. The first sign of real trouble showed itself within days.

Our first few days living in the new manor were quiet. Other than the incident in the kitchen during our very first morning together, there was not much activity on her part. I learned that Gilda had no idea how to live the life of a woman of means, let alone yielding to being nursed as well as pampered.

For instance, due to her injuries a bath was still out of the question as of yet, and I was still sponge-bathing her as she lay on her new bed, morning and night. However, she was uncomfortable with such familiarity and would only allow me to go so far, ordering me away for the more tender bits. It was highly frustrating for me.

First off, simply put, I'd have done a better job. A much more _thorough_ job. I can _see_ foreign matter, you know.

Secondly, her present reaction to our intimacy was a far cry from the fresh, eager seventeen-year-old I'd approached three years ago. I daresay if I _had_ gotten to her back then, I'd have made my way into her pants before that evening's meal. I could smell the lust on her for nearly the entire conversation. I can still smell it, now, while I bathe and dress her… only I can add _embarrassed_ and _tense_ to the list.

How do you humans _lose_ that wonderful openness of your youth so easily? If I were in your position, considering how short your lives actually are, I'd hang on to every happiness as though I were defending my offspring.

Then again, most of you are lousy parents. So I guess it's to be expected.

After most of the décor was in place, I kept asking her what she thought of it all, and at first she refused to comment. When I finally got through to her that this was _her_ home and she had every right to decorate it the way she wanted, she finally told me just what she thought of my decisions.

Gilda had grown into quite the _direct_ adult. She despised my choice in curtains, but adored all the furniture. She was indifferent towards the wallpaper and paint in half the rooms, yet approved of it in the others. The expensive rugs on the hardwood floors? She liked those so much it gave her gooseflesh. But as to the framed painted reproductions on the walls – masters, every last one of them – she said they were _trite_ and that I needed to _expand my artistic horizons_.

My artistic sensibilities are just fine, thank you. However, I'll be sure to expand _her_ horizons the first chance I get.

I wasn't about to change any of those things, of course. In case you haven't gleaned it yet, I'm a bit of a 'my way or the highway' demon. But, it was good that she got it out of her system. In the end it didn't matter, because I don't truly believe that furniture and wallpaper were major concerns in her life, even now as she had the money to do something about it. That piano, however... Well, let's just say that it was a stroke of genius on my part that I had started with it.

Gilda, as I have told you, was a musician. She was studying to be a composer. But more than that, she was an artist, and in every sense of the word. She had every intrinsic negative personality trait that the all the greats were known to possess – traits that, I tell you now, are _very_ difficult to live with, let alone attempt to eradicate.

Stubborn. Easily distracted, with at least one part of her brain constantly focused on music. Densely unreachable for even minor conversation when she is working. Subject to sudden fits of anger, melancholy and elation – fits that diminish as quickly as they start.

Artists are having a laugh at the universe's expense, and refuse to let anyone else in on the joke.

Highly annoying. And undeniably attractive. Ask yourself this… despite the fact that these days we all know about Edgar Allen Poe's addiction to drugs, Vincent Van Gogh's insanity, and Maria Callas' stormy temper, would you deny the opportunity to spend an afternoon with any one of those geniuses, just to see what they are like? I thought not.

Being that she was still dependent upon me to get around, most of Gilda's time during that first week was spent reading, studying, or composing while lying in her new bed or on the furniture in the lower rooms. She asked me briefly about fulfilling my end of the contract, but I told her to _hush,_ that we would get to that discussion later. I wanted to get the manor in perfect working order and get her healthy and back to school first.

Despite all that, it was when we got to her clothes that the real arguments began.

Dressing Ciel had been a pleasure. He was thin and young and beautiful… but most importantly he didn't really give a damn what I put on him or what I clothes bought. The only time he balked was when I dressed him in a frilly girl's party dress so that he could be a decoy while trying to catch a criminal. He had looked so very pretty, and the _corset_… I get excited just remembering that day. Boy clothes, girls, it didn't matter. Every single day with him was like dressing a doll. I enjoyed putting Ciel's clothing on him almost as much as I loved taking it off of him.

Shopping for him was easy. The styles were what they were back then, and people with money were expected to dress a certain way, and not to veer. Changes were slow, trends were few and manageable, and a fad could simply be ignored if it was garish.

But this was nineteen ninety-seven, and it was America. The term _trend_ didn't even begin to describe the fashion world.

Gilda had… _eclectic_ tastes, which made decision-making all the more difficult for me. And apparently, I had made _all_ the wrong decisions when I purchased her wonderful new clothes.

Good Lord, the _yelling._ For someone so pretty and delicate looking, she could give a rabid hellhound a run for its money! My sensitive ears are still ringing from it.

We had been in the manor for exactly three days, four hours and twenty-nine minutes when her coordinated, pretty, _expensive_ new clothing finally began to show up. At first she was eager to see what I had selected, as there had been no true ire on her part regarding the décor; as I said, she didn't really care about that. But after a few garments were presented to her, she grew quiet. Then she started getting agitated. _Then_, she began telling me, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of my choices. Within a short time, we were nearly at each other's throats.

And I am sure I do not have to remind you exactly which one of us would have won _that_ sort of battle.

Here is an example of how the conversation went that evening as we opened package after package of internet-acquired garments and shoes – her sitting against pillows recuperating on her new bed, with me standing at the ready with a hand-held steamer and padded hangers, eager to fill her empty closets.

"_Where_ did you get _that?"_ she asked, pointing at a lovely, one hundred percent cotton button down shirt, in eggshell with pearl buttons. It dangled in my hands, her expression towards it sour, as though it was a box of night crawlers.

"I selected it from the Fall line at Abercrombie and… something or other, Mistress," I said, holding it up and admiring the delicate, embroidered red detail around the rounded-edge collar. "Considering how late in the season it is, I was lucky to have found it…"

She shook her head in odd circles, eyebrows raised incredulously, and responded with a rather snide tone to her voice. "Oh. Abercrombie and… _Did_ you now?"

"Ah… Yes. It is not to your liking?"

"Gee, Alex… What do you think? Do I look pleased?"

I cleared my throat. "Well. Yes. Not every piece has to be well-loved," I started, touching it up with the steamer. "Some pieces function quietly, as essentials. This will go lovely with both the red wool skirt and the maroon jumper." I walked towards her closet to put it away.

"Yeah. About that. I don't wear sweaters."

I was aghast. "Nonsense! A good jumper is essential to any young woman's wardrobe."

She shook her head, pushing her composition notebook aside. "All right, now, you listen a' me _Jeeves_."

Who was this person?

"Furst off, this here's 'merica," she spat, using an atrocious southern accent that grated on my nerves. "An' round here we all say _sweaters_, not 'jumpers'. " I turned, looking at her, trying very hard to control my own temper. "Secondly, I do not _wear_ sweaters. I do not wear _sleeveless_ _shells_," I knew of at least six of those we had yet to unwrap, "_turtlenecks_, mock or otherwise," oh dear, there were eleven of those, "or _cardigans_."

Oh my. No _cardigans?_ That little bitch.

"I find most knitted stuff too hot, even in winter. If I get cold indoors, I like sweatshirts and hoodies."

"Hood-ease, Mistress? What is that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Remember the blue top I was wearing when you picked me up the other morning to bring me here? It had a zipper all the way down the front?"

_That thing._

"You mean the navy blue garment you had on over your white t-shirt? The one with the little red skulls all over it and the hood– _Ah_. 'Hoodie'. I see." I pursed my lips and turned back to her closet, and hung the button down shirt on the rod. "It was damaged. Old. I threw it out for you."

I practically felt her eyes bugging out before they shot daggers into my back. I turned at her silence and found she was staring at me like I had eaten a puppy. Which, incidentally, tastes revolting.

"_You_ _**what**__?" _She bellowed. "That was my favorite one, you asshole!"

"Mistress, please!" I said, placing a hand to my ear. "Such language for a young lady! You will cease–"

"_I _will cease? Are you _kidding_ me? Who the _fuck_ is the butler here and who the fuck is the Mistress?"

"You are my Mistress. _I_ am your butler," I said, stalking towards her. I knew my eyes were glowing at that point and I sounded quite angry, but there was no way I could have stopped myself. When I got to her bed, I leaned down on my knuckles, placing a fist on either side of her hips, and got quite close to her face. "But more than that, I am one _hell _of a butler, and you would do well to remember just where I come–"

"Okay then, mister," she cut me off, totally unimpressed with my demonic nature peeking through and not backing away an inch. "You're so full of hell, so tell me. _Just what the __**hell**__ else of mine have you thrown away?"_

"I threw away all the shoes and clothing you came to me with, except for what you are currently wearing… and that _atrocious_ canvas bag you used for school."

Her face went positively _white_ with rage.

"Mistress," I began, forcing the sound of reason into my voice. "It was a ragged, old flea trap, with irremovable coffee rings. It was an old bag when I met you three years ago, for heaven's sake. 'Let it go', as they say."

"_Let it go? _That bag was…" she swallowed hard, and I thought she was going to start crying. But she shook her head slightly and went right back to being mad. "Where is it? I want it back! _Now!"_

Angry, I turned away from her and rifled through the packages on the floor until I found the one I wanted. Tearing the box open with precision, I threw the packaging aside and held an over-priced but beautiful leather book satchel in one hand, and pointed at it furiously with the other.

"I have replaced it with _this_ one, do you see? New, fine calfskin, stronger, and with sterling silver appointments," I said through clenched fangs, stomping towards her on the bed. "Why on earth would you want that old piece of rubbish when you can have _this?_"

I was in her face again by now, leather bag gripped in one hand and her jaw held fast in my other. She grimaced, trying to remove herself from my fingers, but my hands were like iron, giving her a little taste of my immense strength. I was reminded, briefly, of when I had done the very same thing to Ciel.

Gilda glanced from the bag back to my demonic eyes, her eyes showing just the edge of nervousness, and I noticed she was trembling. She was very frightened, she positively _reeked_ of it, and I'd be remiss if I did not admit that I enjoyed it at that moment. Also, I found myself getting aroused again, only this time, it was not out of a desire to soothe and mend… it was to _quell_ and _control_.

But, despite her fear, she was also not backing down from me, which made me proud. Never before had a mark gotten me so conflicted in such a short time. When she finally spoke, it was quiet, and her voice was shaking, but she got the words out.

"Demon, I… I _order_ you to get that bag back."

I narrowed my eyes at her. It was an order. I would do it. But not before I found out: _"Why?"_

She frowned, then squared her shoulders. She moved to slap my hand away from her jaw, and I allowed it to fall away when she made contact. I could give her that much; if I had remained steadfast in holding her jaw, she'd have probably broken her hand on mine when she slapped it.

"I don't have to explain myself to you! _Get my bag back now!_ Do as you have been _ordered_," she yelled in my face.

I stared at her.

"What are you gonna do? _Kill me?_ Break the fucking contract, _go ahead!_ I'll be dead and you can dance in my blood and jack off to your heart's content, but nothing else will happen. _You certainly won't get my soul."_

Damn it all. She was brave… and _smart_.

I sighed, closing my eyes and getting control over myself. Eyes returned to black, fangs retracted, cock went into repose.

"Very well… _Mistress_."

I was forced to leave her alone in the manor for about thirty-eight minutes. I began by retracing the route of the dustmen, as they had, unfortunately, done their job and collected the manor's trash that very morning – including the bag I had filled with her clothing, shoes and that _goddamn_ canvas bag. When I came upon the right spot in the correct refuse dump I searched for her scent and found the bag. Rather than remove the canvas sack, I decided to simply bring _all_ of it back to her, in the hopes that it would pacify her, and I would have a tool to negotiate my way to an agreement with her regarding her wardrobe. By the time I got back, I smelled disgusting and… Well, to be honest… I felt horrible for having scared her.

Things simply couldn't be left as they were.

After I cleaned myself up and brought her the requested bowl of soup (I will break her of saying 'please' to me yet, I tell you), we tried again. It turns out that Gilda did not hate my every purchase. She truly despised some of the pieces, but what really rankled her was the way in which I was _planning_ her outfits in whole, right down to her underclothes.

With her tastes all over the place, she also preferred to mix things up, so some of the newer pieces stayed. Some of the old ones went; she either never cared for them in the first place, or they were too old and she had no sentimental feelings attached to them anyway.

We finally agreed that I would assemble an outfit as I saw fit, then she could rearrange it as she pleased. And, at least one day a week, what she wore was entirely up to her (she went with Saturday, 'date night' as she called it. We'll just see about _that._) and I would get one day a week of my choosing when my selections were absolute.

I learned a valuable lesson that day regarding my new Mistress. She was not Ciel. She had different goals and definitely had different tastes than he'd had. And perhaps the most notable difference between them, Gilda _hated_ giving me orders. She preferred to inquire, or worse, _discuss._

But as with Ciel, I could manipulate her on some levels. I just had to figure out what they were.

•

"What the heck am I gonna tell people when I get back to school?"

"Simply say that you came into a grand inheritance. If they ask whom, say it was a distant, unmarried, _unknown_ Aunt. Say nothing more. You owe no one an explanation." I lifted her left leg up, the wounded one, to clean the back of it, and she winced.

"Apologies, Miss. Too fast?"

"No, not really. The muscles are still protesting. I need to flex them more often, anyway. Just ignore me," she muttered.

I leaned in, hoping to bridge the gap between us during these moments just a bit more. _"Ignore_ you? My word, that would be _impossible_," I said smoothly, wiping her leg with the sponge from the back of her knee up to her ankle. Little drops of scented water escaped the sponge and ran down her leg, all the way to the back of her thigh. She shivered, and then tensed.

"Just relax, Mistress. You are too tight, and it will not help your recovery."

"Doesn't this _bother_ you? Having to clean me like this?"

"Not in the least. I enjoy serving you in any way that I am able, as you are my–"

"Your delicious prey, yeah yeah. I get it."

"Well, I was going to say 'as you are my Mistress'," I began, bending her leg to relieve the tightness in it. She closed her eyes and bit her lip. It was still painful, but she was quite the trooper. I leaned on her knee and pushed gently as the physical therapist had shown me to do. "But my delicious prey will work as well," I said, my voice nearly at a whisper for such an intimate moment. She moaned just a tiny bit, and I released her leg, setting it back down on the bed gently.

"All right, Young Miss?"

"Yes. That felt better than it did this morning, but don't do it again, okay? Once was enough for tonight."

"As you wish… but tomorrow morning, we do it twice."

"Whatever."

I moved up to her torso, and cleansed her arms and underarms, shoulders, neck, and stomach. I wiped her breasts clean as she never seemed to have any concerns about that; it was only when I got to her privates that she balked.

I sat her up carefully and washed her back, then lay her back down again and looked her in the eyes.

"_Please_ let me finish."

She sighed, closing her eyes and looking away from me. "We've been over this, Alexander."

"Yes, and I have capitulated up until now. But I ask you, please, let me do this for you. Mistress, allow me to be blunt."

Gilda looked up at me. "Speak your piece, Demon."

"Every time you try to clean yourself, you strain your ribs again. Your embarrassment causes you to seek to get it over with quickly by scrubbing in too harsh a manner, which is not doing your tender flesh, still raw from being violated, any good." Her lower lip quivered slightly. "The bottom line is, you need to heal properly. We declined in-home care because I will _not_ allow a stranger to handle you thus, but your stubbornness is not helping matters any."

She sniffed a bit, and began to cry.

I immediately put down the sponge and sat on the bed next to her side. Wiping away her tears, I said "There, there Miss Gilda," in my most comforting voice. That particular voice has been known to charm the clothes off of many a human. It is the one that Grell Sutcliff wants to hear personally, and never, ever will.

"You don't need to remind me I was raped, you idiot. I remember it all now," she said through her tears.

"I am sorry, Miss. Of course you do. And it was a _horrible_ thing." Well. The beating was not so horrible – ah, not for _me_, at least. Opportunity only knocking once, and all that rot.

"You're gonna have to be patient with me, Alex. I'm used to taking care of myself, you know? It's been me, and _only_ me, for a long time now." She hiccupped and her breasts wobbled. _Adorable._ "If I was freaked out with you just bringing me a cup of coffee, how do you think having you bathe me is making me feel?"

"Amorous?" I asked, my voice filled with a lilting hope.

She turned magenta again. And oh, _lucky me_, I got to see it all _over_ her person! Even her knees got pink. Huzzah!

Wiping away the rest of her tears, I said, "If I can't give my Mistress a simple, pleasurable sponge bath, what sort of a butler would I be?"

She tried to hide her smile. A delightfully good sign.

"Now," I started, effusing my voice with sympathy as well as a little temptation. "Let me finish for you, yes?" I picked up the sponge again, and touched the edge of the soft towel she'd kept draped over her hips since we began this little routine almost a week ago.

Biting her lip, she nodded her assent. "Just… be gentle, okay?"

"Of course, Miss. Leave it to me."

She surrendered peacefully to my ministrations while I cleansed her most sensitive areas, and I coaxed her to relax even further with soft words of encouragement.

It was the most significant headway I'd made in our relationship since we'd contracted together. And I won't insult you by pretending that I didn't enjoy it, either.

The headway, I mean.

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Rated M. **

• **Flying beta-less. Forgive the typos.**

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 5**

•

Gilda had been home with just me for company for about a week and a half now. Most of the arguing seemed to be behind us, thankfully. She was working diligently on bringing her leg back up to snuff because she was anxious about getting back to school. This was her last year; she was set to graduate the following Spring. Her attack had taken place a little over a month into the fall term, so at least she was not yet in the thick of preparing for finals. From the way she spoke about them, I had a feeling the coming Spring was going to be a fairly chaotic for her.

No matter. She had _me_ now, and I would 'sweat the small stuff' for her, as she'd put it.

She was eating her breakfast in bed, so I busied myself organizing her shoe rack. There were so many lovely pairs to choose from in her closet now! Some of them not so lovely in my opinion, but well-loved, at least.

She wasn't up to wearing shoes yet. I was still carrying her everywhere, so it hardly mattered. She was finally comfortable with me doing that, which was nice, especially towards the day's end when she was drowsy and seemed to enjoy being held. I have a feeling there hadn't been much of that sort of thing in her life before I came along. Which is a pity, because she's quite nice to hold when she isn't being defensive.

"Alexander?"

"Yes, Miss?" I asked. I turned to face her as she finished her breakfast, and for once, she'd eaten at all of it. "Can I bring you more?"

"No, but it was delicious."

"Thank you, Mistress," I said bowing slightly.

"I just had a question. Or a comment, actually."

"Yes?"

"You still haven't asked me anything about my father's business – I know, I know," she cut me off when I tried to respond, "You want us to get used to each other. You want me to get back to school first. But Alex, I'm not sure you realize how complicated the stock market is. Plus I'm not sure he's entirely, um, legit, you know? If you don't know much about how it works, you're going to need help."

"All right, Miss," I started, removing the tray from her lap. I refilled her cup from the carafe next to her bed, and handed her a fresh cup of coffee. Sitting down next to her on the bed, I asked, "Why don't you start by telling me something about your relationship with him?"

"How is that going to help?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised."

"Hm. Okay, well, sorry to say there _is_ no relationship with him. He left before I was born. As soon as he found out my mom was pregnant with me, he booked. Said we 'weren't what he wanted' or something. Or so I was told."

"You have reason to believe you were lied to about that?"

"No, not really. Let's just say that Veronica, my mom, couldn't tell me a single thing about him without slathering it with her anger."

"How long were your parents married?"

"They never were married. Franks is my mother's last name. My father's name is Norman Anthony Bellows. Say, Alex – what's your last name, anyway? You've never said."

"The only name I have is the one you've given me, Miss."

"Well, we'll need a last name when people ask. Unless you _want_ to do the Cher–slash–Madonna thing?"

I had a vague idea of what she was referring to, and she was right, I needed a last name. Sighing, I gave her the same one I always used. "Michaelis. Alexander Michaelis."

At least it sounded nice paired with Alexander, like Sebastian did. I cannot tell you how mortified I'd been introducing myself as _Diddums Michaelis_ when I was with Linda Smith.

She seemed to like the name, and smiled up at me as she continued. "They were three years together, I think. He took up with another woman after that. Did the same damn thing to her as well – never married her, knocked her up, and left her with a bun in the oven. I have a little half-sibling."

"Splendid, you have more family. Would you like me to locate them?"

Gilda froze midway to a sip, and looked at me strangely for a moment. Then she simply said, "No."

"What did your mother do after your father abandoned the two of you?"

"Bitched, cried and drank. A _lot_ of drinking. That's how she died, she drank herself to liver failure."

"Ah. Cirrhosis?"

She shook her head. "No, that's usually slower. She was way more bingy with her liquor than that. She got alcoholic hepatitis, and then that became liver failure, like, overnight. It was gross and it was hard, I mean I was only fifteen… but we had no insurance, so I took care of her. In fact, I ended up playing nursemaid the last several months of her life… not that she took much care of _me_ before that.

There. You see? I _told_ you. Gilda had been starved for affection. Well, she was going to get plenty of that from me. Just as soon as I got her used to the idea.

"You had no relationship with your father, and a _bad_ relationship with your mother?"

She sighed. "She blamed me. For him leaving, I mean. And she told me so on a regular basis."

"Yet you still looked after her."

"She was my mom, so yeah. Stupid, I know."

"Not stupid. I'd say that was respectful. In any case, you were still a child. I don't suppose she came to her senses before she died and thanked you for caring for her on her deathbed?"

Gilda rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee.

"Yes, I didn't think so. So you were burdened with a destitute living environment, raised by a psychology abusive mother who eventually drank herself to death, and you began to work, early in life, to try and improve your situation. I know you don't care to hear this," I said, fluffing her pillows behind her back, "but it's that kind of behavior that stems from a pure soul."

She shrugged. "I only did what needed to be done."

"Exactly."

She eyed me for a moment, then shrugged her little shoulders. "I was doing pretty good for myself before the conservatory and its massive tuition bills came calling. Mom was already gone, and it was obvious I was gonna graduate from high school early, so a friend hired a lawyer and got me emancipated."

"Friend?" I inquired, skeptically.

"My piano tutor, at the time. I had a job waitressing already, and I was prepared to look for work in nightclubs as a piano player. My piano tutor and my teachers at school weren't exactly happy about that, but still, I really was prepared make it on my own."

"Well, money is no longer an issue, I will see to that. Not to worry, Mistress, I will get help if I require it. But, I am confused – you mean to tell me you learned your musicianship in a _public_ school setting?"

"Mostly. One of my teachers in elementary school saw how intrigued I was by the piano in class, so she was giving me lessons for free, but I surpassed her abilities really fast. That's when people started calling me a 'prodigy'. Whatever," she rolled her eyes again. "She got one of her professional musician friends to give me lessons for free after that. That's the guy that hired a lawyer and got me emancipated after mom died. He's a really good tutor, and I stuck with him until I entered the conservatory. In fact, he went behind my back and got me an audition for the conservatory."

"I am glad he did. You are not suited to a life of dingy nightclubs and piano bar music, Miss."

The corners of her mouth curled up in an embarrassed smile. "Yeah… I was mad at first, but he was right to do it. Pretty much all my music stuff was accomplished through the kindness of strangers who seemed to think I had a gift."

"You _do_ have a gift, Mistress. You should not be afraid to admit that. Speaking of your musical talent, I assume that comes from your mother?"

"God, no! That's from my loving father, good ole' Norm."

"Not your mother? How can you be so sure?"

"Oh, I'm sure all right. I have _living_ proof." For some reason, she changed the subject abruptly. "Say, Alex, about the skirt you picked out for today…"

_Oh, here we go._

•

"Hello?"

I watched with narrowed eyes on the closed-circuit TV screen in the foyer as a young man spoke into the microphone very politely. "I'm Fortune, here to see Gilda. Is this…" he looked around and up, smiling nervously when he found the camera and then swallowing hard. "Do I have the right house?"

The security system I had gotten installed went off again, alerting me to a visitor at the front gate, and I thought it may have been another delivery as I was still waiting for some furniture.

"This is the Frank's residence. Gilda Franks is the Mistress of the manor," I said into the intercom. "To whom am I speaking, again?"

"Fortune – Sorry. _Fortunado Fernandez_. I'm a conservatory student originally from Chile, here on scholarship. Oh – and on Uncle Rafael's money, heh." The boy was smiling nervously into the camera as he spoke entirely too much. "Um… I don't mean to be rude," he said, his accent just barely coming through. He had obviously been well tutored as a youth. "But, that is to say… Well, who are _you_, exactly?"

"Young man, I am the Franks family butler." I was trying not to intimidate him _too_ much. He was being polite, after all. "Let me check with the Mistress about your visit. I shall return momentarily. Do wait there a moment," I said, flipping off the intercom and eyeing him a bit further on the screen in the foyer.

As you know, I still despised that such technology was now found in law enforcement facilities. But to have it here… what an advantage it gave me over callers! I could see them, but they could not see me. So _easy_ to strike fear.

The visit had indeed been planned – by Gilda. "_Do_ try and tell me about these things ahead of time, Mistress. I can prepare for your callers," I said to her, settling her into a chair in the salon. "Even if they are _young men."_

She looked very good that day, a big improvement over when I had first brought her home. Her long, light brown hair was finally responding to the various treatments I was using on it, and was now _wavy_ instead of frizzy. Fresh and clean, it felt like strands of silk when I combed it. I had pulled it back into a loose ribbon where it trailed lovingly down her back.

The split lip was almost completely gone, and Gilda's pale skin was dotted with adorable patches of light freckles that had blossomed nicely since I'd begun overseeing her skin care regimen. There was a cluster of them up high on each cheek right below her eyes that I was particularly fond of as they darkened when she blushed for me.

I'd forced her into a matched set of lacy, dark red intimates that morning. The brassiere (a 'C' cup, in case you are wondering) and panties had looked great enough on her, and covering them up had been a shame, but the outfit looked just as nice. Her height and weight was completely average for a woman her age, five-foot-five and one hundred twenty-nine pounds. She had strong legs and a fantastic backside, which I chose to show off in a fitted, forest green worsted wool skirt. I picked a maroon button-down for her shirt, which went so well with her dark green eyes, and I left the top two buttons undone, providing the most miniscule of teases.

The short maroon socks with little satin bows on them, along with a touch of mascara and some sheer pink candy-flavored lip-gloss added a flair of _Lolita_ to the whole ensemble. I was exceedingly pleased with myself when I'd finished with her that morning.

But now I was beginning to regret how attractive she looked. If I caught this _Fortunado Fernandez_ person with so much as an uninvited finger on my precious Mistress –

"_Relax,_ Heathcliff. Fortune's my best friend."

I stood up, fisting my hands on my hips and giving her a disappointed frown. "The only thing a young man his age is interested in is a subject I cannot bring myself to discuss with you at present."

She laughed. "Then you'd better gird your loins, Alex."

"Pardon _me_, Miss?"

She tilted her head, giving me a sympathetic smile. "Fortune digs men, and _you_ are a hottie."

"Ah."

_More modern vernacular. How I **loathe** it._

"Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky, huh?" she smiled, a little too wide. "Now go let him in already, it's chilly out today and he's from a South American climate."

I watched as the young man got back into his expensive British car, then I entered the code that opened the gate for him. He drove up to the front door, got out _without_ slamming his car door, and patiently waited on the front stoop for me to let him in.

Nearly all of my hesitation was relieved when he entered the manor, immediately handed me his coat, and introduced himself properly. He was a well-groomed boy; very attractive with long black hair held neatly in a ponytail, smooth, brown skin, beautiful dark brown eyes, and fairly tall. He even possessed the decency to have picked up a stray package left by the gate and brought it in with him, so I added 'accommodating' to my assessment. He also knew not to try and shake my hand – I _am_ the help after all – and he followed my lead into the parlor.

The boy was obviously the very best sort that came from money. Perhaps he'd give Gilda a few lessons in the proper behavior of a person of status. I could only hope.

I was eavesdropping from the kitchen, just in case the handsome lad suddenly decided he was no longer a homosexual and tried to coerce my Young Miss into something untoward. With you humans, one just _never_ knows!In the end, there was nothing for me to be concerned about.

He was a delightful young man. They spent the afternoon giggling, drinking iced tea and eating some savory hors d'oeuvres I'd thrown together. Fortune seemed very concerned about Gilda's health, and told her that all her instructors and friends at school were anxiously awaiting her return. Much to his delight, she let him play her new piano – he was very good, but I had my suspicions that Gilda was better. I also learned that he played gaucho-style guitar.

As they spoke, I put two-and-two together, and learned that all of the conservatory students who were in their final year had similar graduation requirements: you had to prove you could play an instrument as part of an orchestra, which differed from techniques used as a soloist; you had to compose a final piece of music specifically for your chosen instrument; and you had to master the basics on how to conduct a symphony. Young Mr. Fernandez's intent at school was to become a conductor, not a composer, like my Mistress.

They got along splendidly, and I could see why they were such good friends. Although Fortunado came from wealth, and Gilda had been poor, their money wasn't actually providing them with any sort of fulfillment. It was a means to a more _comfortable_ end, and nothing more. They were both extremely talented students with a burning desire to succeed in their musical endeavors; their money, or lack of it, did not concern them.

I also listened intently when Fortunado asked Gilda just what had happened that lead to her new life of luxury.

"This place is a lot bigger than Uncle Rafe's house! What didja do, Gillie? Rob a bank?"

She proceeded to tell him the tale, exactly as I had instructed, and he accepted it without a lot of fuss – thankfully. I made a mental note to reward her for that.

"So, you're loaded now, huh? That must feel nice."

"It would, but I'm not used to it. Alex has been a lot of help."

_Sweet child._

"That's the butler? Yeah, he seems like he's been around the feather duster a time or two before." I heard her snort rudely. She'll probably demand I walk around with a pink feather duster sticking out of my back pocket from here on out. "I like him," the boy continued, "He's totally professional but he isn't a cold fish, either. You should lean on him more, Gillie, that's what he's here for and he obviously cares about you."

_Oh, if you only knew._

Gilda cleared her throat and changed the subject. "Well, it's just… all the _money_, Forch. It's a little overwhelming. I mean, I went from a one-room hovel on Federal Offense Avenue to… _this,"_ I heard her say, and she was probably waving her hands around, indicating everything.

"The money making you nervous?" he asked gently, and I heard him shift.

"Yeah. It's weird. It shouldn't right? But it does." Her voice had grown very quiet.

_Time to make another entrance._

Walking in with more iced tea and a sweet, I glanced down to see he had taken her hands in his. I didn't smell anything indecent coming off of him, so I tried to ignore it. I heard him say to her, "Uncle Rafael can help, maybe. He's a stock trader and he knows people."

"I thought… I thought your uncle was…" she started, but whatever it was she was going to say, it died on her lips as I got closer.

Fortune glanced up at me as I hovered with another tray, and released her hands. I smiled politely. "I've made something sweet to finish," I announced. "Raspberry crème petits fours."

Gilda was indifferent. She took one and placed it on her dessert dish, but did not actually eat it. Fortunado, however, took three, and his eyes lit up with the first bite.

"Oh, _man_, can I take him home with me? These are _so_ good!"

"You flatter me, sir. But I'm afraid I am spoken for. I belong to Miss Gilda, and will for some time." She smiled up at me softly. "If I may be so bold as to inquire, what was that you were saying to my Mistress as I entered the salon?"

The boy nodded, then finished chewing and swallowed, _and_ wiped his mouth before speaking.

Oh, I _liked_ him.

Gilda shook her head for him to stop, but he waved her off. "It's all right, Gillie. I was telling her about my Uncle Rafe. He has a lot of connections in the financial world." He looked back at my Mistress, who became uneasy. "She's just apprehensive to talk about it because some of the people in my family are not exactly known for being completely above board. Apparently she doesn't realize yet that Butlers are sworn to confidence."

"Indeed. Yes we are, _Sworn_ to secrecy," I said to him happily. _He_ understood. His soul was not particularly potent, but he was an intelligent, concerned person.

Hmm… So this Uncle Rafael was a not-so-legitimate stock trader, was he? That gave me pause. I still had to figure out how to take down Norman Bellow's shady firm, and fighting fire with fire was always a good place to start.

Gilda leaned over and groaned as she put her face in her hands. Fortunado pat her shoulder affectionately. "Gillie, it's _okay._ For heaven's sake! No one's going to get in trouble just from talking about it!"

"Mistress, perhaps you should listen to what Mr. Fernandez has to offer. There are still some issue with your finances that I am unqualified to deal with." Those issues being, of course, taking over her father's firm and then destroying his personal wealth. The modern financial world was ever so complicated. She was right, I was going to need help, much as I needed the help of Master Ciel's 'staff'. Her friend didn't need to know the details yet, but Gilda knew _exactly_ what I was referring to. "It may put your heart at ease should you employ the services of someone you know, rather than a stranger. I could stay and listen, or even handle it all for you… if you'd like."

Fortunado Fernandez stayed on for a couple more hours. I learned that he was from a wealthy Chilean family with a pure ancestry, a pre-columbian genetic heritage that made him an honest-to-goodness Native South American. His was an exceedingly conservative lot, and his Uncle Rafael had taken the boy in when his parents disowned him after he came 'out' about being homosexual.

Honestly, this business of humiliating, shunning and murdering your fellow humans for all the various insipid reasons you come up with – real _or_ imagined - just what is _wrong_ with you people? I will never understand it. The important part of being human – your_ soul_, in case you are still confused on that one – has very little to do with what gender you are (or aren't), what your personal beliefs are (or _aren't_), your appearance, how much money you have, or whom or how often you want to 'fuck'. So silly.

Luckily for Fortunado, being taken in by his Uncle included a move to the United States, where he eventually won admittance into the conservatory. He and my Mistress had met in their very first class of their first year. They had a five-year age difference – remember that Gilda had graduated ahead of schedule from her American secondary education, but after Fortunado moved to the US, his education was stalled due to the business of obtaining citizenship status. Despite the differences in their ages and financial status, they had taken to each other instantly. It is no wonder to me that Gilda's protective nature for her friend came out the moment he kissed her goodbye and drove away.

"Listen, Demon. If you involve Fortune in something that gets him hurt, I will be _livid_ with you. Got it?"

I assured her that she had nothing to worry about. I had no plans to involve Fortunado Fernandez in anything Machiavellian. Unless, of course, the young man expressed a desire to engage in sex with me. He was pretty enough that I might not be able to resist. Olé!

As to his uncle Rafael's involvement, however, Gilda failed to mention any restrictions. So he was an entirely different matter.

As Fortune would have it, pun intended, I arranged with Gilda's pretty friend to bring Uncle Rafael Fernandez to the manor the following day. I found that he had a soft spot for most everyone that needed help, but yes, he was quite shady. This was exactly what my Mistress and I needed. It was my good luck that he also adored Gilda like a daughter, so I was very confident that he wouldn't refuse our offer. He nearly fell over himself hugging her and expressing his desire to rip her attacker to shreds.

_Too late!_ Ha ha ha.

The surprise came, though, when he found out whom her father actually was. In an auspicious turn of events, I wasn't going to have to apply much seduction at all to obtain Uncle Rafael's services, since he hated Gilda's father.

"_That's_ your daddy? Norm Bellows?"

"Yep. The name Franks is from my mom. He never married her, so yeah, I'm a bastard."

"Nothin' of the sort, Gillie. Yer a perfect little girl!" She smiled up at him. "But I fuckin' hate that guy. Oh, pardon my French, Gillie."

That word. Is not. _French_. I sighed.

"No problem, Uncle Rafe. I fucking hate him, too."

"Mistress! _Language,"_ I scolded.

The two of them snickered together, and Fortunado rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

•

The offer was discussed and an agreement quickly solidified. After Uncle Rafael was on board, and yes, even _I_ had to call him that, my struggle to find more help came to an end. Aside from his position as a stock broker (which we were referring to as 'the chef') he also had valuable connections to the underworld. This made Gilda a bit antsy, but after I told her that I'd had extensive experience dealing with such types in the past, she relaxed enough to just 'let me handle it'. I didn't go into detail regarding Ciel's position as guard dog to the Queen, as I had no desire to bring that up, and fortunately she did not press things.

Along with Uncle Rafael, we now had resources for information to illegal activity in the financial world, and together we could get a better handle on how to approach Bellows' firm.

Rafael said we needed an accountant and a lawyer, and he found us both. The accountant's name was Michael Jacobs. I assigned him as our 'gardener', and he would be in charge of laundering the money. I got a bit excited when he used that term, 'laundering', but that died soon after I got a brief education in what that actually meant. Jacobs was an average looking black man in his late twenties. Young, but already very good at his job. He was private and quiet, polite. Dependable.

Our 'maid', Evelyn Shapiro, was a tax lawyer that knew how to clean up the loose ends. She was a tiny, dark-haired woman, a confirmed bachelorette with a good sense of humor and impeccable taste in business attire. She also had a slight mothering instinct that had helped gain her an instant rapport with Gilda, which I appreciated.

"Of course you go and make the only woman among them the_ maid._ Jeez, Alex… that's totally sexist even if it is all a big ruse," she said to me later.

"I apologize Mistress. I'm afraid I'm a bit old fashioned in that way. You should be comforted by the fact that at first Miss Shapiro also balked at the idea for the very same reasons, but when she learned what her cut was, she didn't seem to mind as much."

They were _all_ to get a very generous cut for their work, which I informed them was to look as legitimate as they could make it.

They were not the manor's actual gardener, maid and chef, of course – same as before, _I_ did all that – but they were also expected to show up and play their parts if needed, should any officials come calling. They were to report to me two days a week at the manor, to confer on their plans and to provide progress reports.

Uncle Rafael already had a few things in mind when it came to Bellows' firm, and decided to start with buying out the less-important board members that held shares. He was fairly certain that Gilda's father had been forced to open up the shares to his board in order to expand the business, and while he still held a generous portion, it was no longer the magic number: fifty-one percent.

I felt confident and happy with this staff. Shapiro and Jacobs reported to Uncle Rafael, who reported to me. These folks were reliable thieves, and yes, there _is_ such a thing. They knew their trades back and forth, and were more than satisfied with their cuts. They were aware they didn't have to make things happen overnight, so it was likely they would come up with a very solid plan.

I could relax a bit regarding the revenge portion of the contract, and concentrate on the things I could control, like getting closer to my Mistress.

•

Earlier I mentioned that Gilda is a perfectionist with her music. But one of the more frustrating things for me was that she _wasn't_ such a stickler when it came to everything else. She may have been particular about me not having complete control over her wardrobe, but she also wasn't overly-adamant that any of the clothes she wore – either the ones _I_ bought, or her own – looked one hundred percent correct when she wore them. If you had asked her, she would just tell you that regardless of the style, she was a slob with her appearance.

Well, I apologize to the universe, but there is only so much a butler such as myself can take. And _that_ attitude had to go. I may have hated the various styles she enjoyed, but she was _not_ going to wear those clothes with stains and wrinkles, or if it was ill fitting and needed alteration. I could at least control that part.

It was fine. She could pair up her hideous black army boots with the lovely watercolor patterned silk dress I'd gotten, and then put an old wool Peruvian poncho over it if she absolutely had to. However, the boots would be polished, and the holes in the poncho would be repaired. I was not budging on that sort of thing. Fortunately, she liked the improvements I came up with, so that adjustment went well.

However, I have to tell you that she finally succeeded in hurting my demonic feelings.

I told you what a difficult learning process making edible human food had been for me, but I don't think I mentioned to you what a spectacular cook I became because of it. That is a particularly monumental achievement for me when you realize that I do not eat human food, and therefore I cannot tell whether it has been made correctly or not simply by tasting it. I had to learn through trial and error; for instance, when Ciel would throw something at me, I had a pretty good idea that it was horrible.

In time, I became a very good chef, and in I was particularly excellent at creating sweets. Ciel adored sweets, so I happily put in the extra effort getting better at them. It was thrilling to feel his mood change because I had served him something he loved. Even though he never openly expressed his delight, I could smell the change in him.

But, as to my feelings. Yes, I _do_ have them. Many of them are not the same ones that you have, yet some of them are. Pride being one.

I am good at making sweets, and not just a little good. Were it not for the fact that I am a demon, I could compete with the world's greatest pâtissier, and would likely win.

One night, after she was up to moving about on her own, with the exception of the stairs, of course, Gilda was in the salon at the piano. Playing. Composing. Talking to herself. Writing, cursing. I tell you, once that girl started working, there was no stopping her.

I'd decided to reward her with a sweet snack.

Mini lemon tarts with toasted marshmallow crème. Not exactly a sock-puller, but it can be difficult to create them properly. After the tarts are baked, and you must _not_ over-bake them, you apply the marshmallow crème with a large pastry tip. You then have to put the tarts under a broiler to achieve just the right amount of browning on the scalloped edges of the crème points. They do not taste _or_ look right, otherwise. However, at this stage, the delicate pastry shells of the tart are susceptible to burning and the lemon custard to liquefying whilst they are under the broiler. One must be diligent, as I always am.

They came out beautiful. I made a pot of decaf vanilla-flavored coffee to go with them, grimacing as I did, and presented it all to her with a flourish.

She didn't even know I was in the room. That damn pencil was in and out of her mouth six times, as she pecked away at the piano keys and scribbled furiously on her staff paper in tandem.

"Miss Gilda?" _nothing. _"Miss, I have brought you a sweet," I started, attempting a compromise. "It may help you to think while you compose?"

"Uh," she started, half looking at me and half looking at her sheets of staff paper. "just set it there on the…" she almost finished, then wrote something down in a rage and plunked it out on the piano.

I sulked back to the kitchen to clean everything up. When I came back into the salon later, she had gone. The coffee was half gone, but the tarts had gone untouched. Defeated, I put them in the icebox. The next day, I served them to the fake staff, and between Evelyn Shapiro and Michael Jacobs, they were gone in fifteen minutes. At least _someone_ appreciated my hard work.

I tried again a few days later, with an Italian almond-anise sponge cake, covered in a dark chocolate ganache, with a touch of smooth raspberry purée drizzled on top in a pretty zig-zag pattern. A very fetching dessert, and full of complex flavors. My ganache is especially nice, having perfected it over many decades, and I know exactly how to balance just the right amount of anise with my almond.

This time, she had the gall to _wave_ me away.

Fortune Fernandez's Uncle Rafael was a big fan of Italian cuisine, to the point where he made lunch for all of us occasionally when the entire staff was assembled. He specialized in pasta dishes, which was something I had very little interest in. He was insistent when the mood struck, and all I could do was get out of his way and clean up the disaster he left in the kitchen when he was done. He loved Italian desserts especially, but had no clue how to create a sweet. So when he smelled the anise of the sponge cake, he followed the scent into the kitchen. After he found the cake in its glass storage container, he ate half of it with a large spoon while still standing at the counter.

Rafael Fernandez is a shrewd and reliable person regarding what I need him for, and he loves Gilda like a surrogate father, but the man has slightly unpleasant table manners.

In any case, I gave her one last chance, hoping the aroma of a _warm_ dessert would pull her attention away from that damn piano and back on to _me. _Yes, I know I was being silly. It'd come to that; I was jealous of a damn musical instrument.

Warm sweetbread blueberry cobbler drenched with cold, fresh cream sweetened with just the right amount of vanilla and sugar. This dish must be served _promptly_. You spoon a generous serving of warm cobbler into a bowl and pour the cold, sweetened cream over it in front of the recipient, and _voilà!_ Instant orgasm in their mouths – that is, _if_ the plebeians have at least an iota of good taste.

But no, I was dashed, yet again.

"Alex, I'm working here. _Please. _I'll eat something later."

I didn't bother saving it for the fake staff to devour. That particular dish simply isn't right as a common leftover. _It must be served fresh. _I dumped the cobbler in the trash and almost felt like crying at the loss, except, you see, I do not cry.

After that, I became slightly depressed. I stopped making her sweets and didn't interrupt her while she was working. What was the point?

A few days later, Gilda was at work in the salon again, when I found a lovely cut of beef in the back of the icebox that needed to be dealt with. I was nearly done preparing a batch of boeuf bourguignon which I was planning to serve for supper in a few hours, when the music and the cursing and the mumbling came to a sudden halt. I was just about to go into the salon to check on her, but the swinging door to the kitchen opened and there stood my Mistress with stars in her dark eyes.

"My God, what are you making?"

"_Why?"_ I asked impolitely, and a little bit suspicious. I admit that I was also still quite hurt.

"It smells _so_ good! What is it? Jesus, is that _bacon?"_

She limped up to the stove and inhaled deeply. Before she came in, I had just competed the last step of adding the wine and other liquids to the beef, and had brought it to a simmer on the stovetop. The casserole dish was now in the oven for the long haul.

"It is Boeuf Bourguignon, Mistress."

"Holy cow. No, I mean _really._ Is it done?" she asked, full of hope.

"No, Miss; one hour and forty-nine minutes more to go," I said, feeling hopeful again. She whined slightly, but said she could hardly wait to taste it.

Unable to go back to her composing, she planted herself at the kitchen table and chatted with me while I worked until the dish was done. I was fairly sure she had done it just to stay close to the aroma with which she was so enamored, but to be honest, she was very charming and she reminded me that the Gilda Franks I had met those years previous was still with us. I admit it was nice to just talk with her, and I learned a few more things about her past.

It turns out that Gilda had been raised on 'TV' dinners and fast food. Her mother, as I should have expected, had not been much into preparing meals for her daughter. When it came to her nourishment, the little girl had learned to fend for herself. But with so much of her energy being poured into her one passion, the piano, she never had the time to learn how to cook properly. Hence the atrocious pre-made dinners, and even those had not been steady. Some days there had been no food at all.

Later, during dinner, I was treated to so many moans of pleasure as she chewed, I wasn't entirely sure if she _hadn't _had an orgasm at the dining room table. It was simple: my new Mistress simply didn't care for sweets.

Although I'd prepared all of her meals for her since we'd contracted, she hadn't gotten so worked up over anything I'd made, not like _that_, not until celebrated Chef Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon hit her plate. The next morning I tried Hash Brown Potatoes with onions and garlic, Eggs Benedict, and a fresh bagel with light cream cheese and kiwi slices. Lo and behold, she was on her way down to the dining room before I could make it up the stairs with the tray.

I insisted she get back in bed and was never to do that again. Breakfast (unless eaten with guests) was a dish that she'd eat in her comfy bed if it was the last thing I got her to do. I pointed to the traditions of the wealthy as my argument, but the fact is… Well, I _adore_ my mornings. Waking the prey up, watching their sweet struggle to abandon the world of dreams, informing them of their daily schedule, and feeding them something delicious and lovingly prepared by yours truly, all before getting down to the business of bathing and dressing.

_My _morning routine is just as important to me as yours is to you. And I get very cranky when that particular aspect of my buttling is messed with.

Two days later we discovered, together, what remained her favorite supper until the end of our association: Pot Roast with Creamy Mashed Potatoes, Harvest Vegetables, and a green salad. Her reaction to the meat was – oh, my _goodness_. Let's just say that after the clinging hug, I thought for sure she was going to request a dessert that night. How shall I describe this - the sort of sweet that is consumed on one's knees? Heh.

She really does have a delightful way of saying thank you when she means it. Bear in mind, I did not give her such rustic and hearty dishes with every meal, most especially lunch, but she quickly came to know the merit of skipping the meat and potatoes and eating the fish and greens in their stead for at least half of the time. She also came to appreciate the fact that I loved to cook, and the more complicated a dish, the more I enjoyed making it. Some were hits, some were misses, but she capitulated and tried each and every plate set before her.

I also wasn't going to stop making sweets, and to my great delight, she occasionally sampled my wares in that regard. What she did not consume, our new staff eagerly gobbled up. It was an arrangement I could most certainly live with.

She was starved for both affection _and_ a savory, nourishing meal, both of which I could happily provide. Yet another difference between Gilda Franks and Ciel Phantomhive that I probably should have anticipated.

•

"Ah! _Dammit!"_

I was in the kitchen before Gilda could take another breath. "What did you do?"

"Shit, sorry. I was trying to reassemble these pages. I was gonna cut and paste them into the order I wanted." She pointed to some staff paper with various musical passages written all over them in her hasty, messy script. "But I stabbed myself with the damn x-acto knife."

She held up her left hand. It was just a small cut, but it was fairly deep. Glistening red drops of her blood were running down her hand and a few had fallen on the kitchen sink. I stepped forward, unable to stop myself.

Taking her hand in mine, I examined the cut. It would not need stitches, but it was going to bleed for a while. A couple red drops got onto my skin as I held her hand. Instinctively, I lifted my fingers to my nose, inhaled deeply, and closed my eyes.

_So_ wonderful. Rich, bright and _pure_.

When I realized I was getting carried away with myself, I opened my eyes only to find Gilda was staring up at me. Her eyes looked wide, but then she smiled sarcastically.

"Well, at least now I know what to get you for Christmas. Maybe if I find a willing donor–"

"Blood from a stranger will not work. Your blood is…"

When I did not finish, she said "What? My blood is what?"

"Let us stop discussing this, Mistress. It's unseemly." I grabbed a clean terrycloth hand towel and wrapped her hand in it, then I turned away from her and began cleaning up the sink. "Keep pressure on it. The bleeding will stop momentarily. Then I will dress it for you."

"Alex, you know… You can drink it if you want to."

I froze, dropping the x-acto knife into the sink.

"I mean, what's already leaked out isn't gonna crawl back in, right? Do you drink blood? I've never seen you eating food, so I just assumed as a demon–"

"_Mistress_. Do not tempt me."

She grinned at me. "So… what? This not a big enough portion for you?" she asked, holding up the hand wrapped in the towel.

I closed my eyes.

"You're telling me you haven't got enough self-control to stop before you drain me dry?"

"Certainly not! It's not the amount, it's the..." I stopped. Why was I supposed to make her understand something I didn't want her to know about in the first place? "Just believe me when I tell you that I am positively _riddled _with self-control. But that is not the point."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point is, _Mistress,"_ I said with a little venom, "It isn't polite. I am your butler. I do not depend on you, you depend on me. I shouldn't cross that line."

"All right, I get it. But, you should know," she said, her voice flirty, "I'm clumsy. I hurt myself. I _bleed._ A lot."

"Then kindly do so where I cannot see." I turned the hot water on in the sink and squirted some dishwashing liquid into the stream.

"Okay…" she said, perplexed. "Think I'll go upstairs and take care of this myself." She hobbled away, and I did not follow her.

Her blood was not her soul, of course. It was _reminiscent_ of it. The actual _flavor_ of it is meaningless; blood is to your soul the same way aromas are to foods. Tastier foods give off better aromas. The potency of this is also affected by your moods the same way food can go cold or stale and the aroma becomes non-existent. Blood tasted during heightened emotional states, such as sex, or _pain_, is more reminiscent of the soul than otherwise. For a demon that can control their urges, _and most of us cannot, _blood becomes a way to sample a soul without actually eating it. But this takes enormous amounts self-control when dealing with a rare soul.

Believe me, I can control myself. But as her butler, it would be disgraceful to even ask for such a thing.

It was a dangerous game, being that close to her blood, especially given how long I'd denied myself such pleasures. Gilda had no idea just how hungry I was, and if I had anything to say about it, she would never know until the moment I fed on her.

•

One day, she did not compose. She just _played_. And I was treated to some of the most wonderful live piano performances I have ever heard.

There was, of course, the 'holy trinity' as she liked to call them (which made me chuckle) – that being Beethoven, Mozart and Chopin. Beyond that, Ravel set the tone as I worked and cleaned in the kitchen, Bach accompanied me as I dusted and polished, I used Tchaikovsky and Wagner to time myself as I cleaned the bathrooms in between loads of laundry. I already loved to clean; this just made it all the more enjoyable.

When I got to the salon, she turned to Grieg and Debussy, which were rather more emotional pieces, and I couldn't help but wonder why she chose those when I was in her sight. Whether or not she intended it, I felt complimented.

While in the salon, I noticed something and managed to get a question in before she began another set.

"Mistress?"

"Hmm?" she asked, sounding dreamy and pleased with herself.

"Where on earth is your sheet music?" The top front panel of her grand piano where the staff paper to her composition normally sits was empty. I expected to see pre-printed sheets there right then, for the famous compositions she was playing. But when I thought about it, I hadn't seen or heard her shuffling though any sheet music at all that day.

She turned on her polished piano seat to face me. "I don't always need it."

"Do you mean to tell me, you have all those marvelous pieces you just played _memorized?"_

"Uh… Well, basically. Yeah."

"Astounding," I said, under my breath. Although I am sure she heard me because she giggled.

After a few hours of this amazing treat, I was straightening the upstairs guest rooms (no one had ever used them as of yet, I just did this on routine principle) and I noticed that she'd begun picking out notes, not playing, as though she were working things out. At first I assumed that she had gone back to composing, but something in me was struggling to recognize bits of the tune. Finally it dawned on me! It was not a piano piece at all. It was Felix Mendelssohn's _Violin Concerto in E minor, Opus 64_, a difficult and exciting composition. And the clever girl was trying to mold and adapt it for playing on the piano.

I knew this piece. I often _played_ this piece.

"Perhaps I can help you with that," I said, standing before her with my violin in my hands.

She looked up, startled at my sudden appearance, then became even more so – making her adorable "o" face – when she saw I held not just a violin, but a Stradivarius.

Yes. _I have one_. I believe the expression is 'nanee-nanee boo-boo'? Telling the tale as to how I came to possess one would make you even more jealous.

"Good gravy, is that…?"

"Yes, Miss. It is." She swallowed hard, gazing at the violin. I smirked, and my voice became playful. "Would you like to touch my instrument?"

She flushed, but got over it quickly. "Ha, ha. Very funny. You're telling me that's been in the house all this time?"

"Indeed. It is spelled to travel with me to each contract."

She nodded. "And you can play a bit?"

I smirked again. "A bit, yes."

"All right then, Alex. I assume you know this piece, and what I'm trying to do with it?"

Positioning myself askew of the piano so that we could watch each other easier, I proceeded to play the first few measures of the piece. She sat in silence when I was done. Without another word, she played a different section, then cocked an eyebrow, expecting me to repeat it. I did so.

She played it again, this time trying to emulate the nuances of my violin within the restrictions of her piano's. Three, four times we repeated this process, and with each time she became more confident until she would move on to another part of the piece, and we'd tackled it again.

Not a word was spoken between us, but there were a lot of heated stares. On both our parts.

By the time we got to playing out the entire piece simultaneously, I felt as though she was undressing me with her eyes, which was very pleasant. It appears Gilda was just as aroused by my talent as I was with hers. We continued on like that for a bit, and she began challenging me by altering the piece to be more piano-like, or less violin-like, however you want to put it, and for me to follow her lead instead of the other way around. One thing after another she changed, creating more and better arrangements on the fly as it were, and I had to struggle to keep up.

No wonder she was so obsessed with music. She was a genius. When we finally stopped, she took her hands from the keys and placed them on her thighs. I strode around behind the piano and set my expensive violin down, very carefully, on an oak lamp table. Gilda swung her legs over the highly polished surface of the stationary bench to face me.

"Wow. That was fun. You _can_ play a bit."

I put a gloved finger to my lips and smiled. "Would you like to do something else that is fun, Miss?" She blushed and looked down. I approached her. She smiled up at me seductively as I got closer, as though she knew what was coming. "You are irresistible when you compete with me like that, Mistress."

"Well, you're pretty damn good on that fiddle, Alex," she smirked. "But how irresistible am I?"

_Joy. _It was time to kiss my prey again!

I removed my gloves with my teeth and tossed them aside, old habits dying hard, you see. She had watched this very carefully, and her eyes grew dark with interest.

Gently, I placed my bare hands on her upper arms and lifted her to her feet, pulling her a few steps away from the piano bench. I was not planning some little peck on her forehead. I wanted her away from her beloved instrument so that she could concentrate on _me_.

I leaned in close. Taking her face in my hands, I captured her lips in mine. There was no resistance on her part, for once, and I took advantage of that. I didn't get all 'grabby', if that's what you are assuming. I don't work that way. There is an art to everything, and seduction is certainly no exception.

I pushed my hands back further into her hair and tilted her head to get better access. Ever so slowly I coaxed her lips into dancing with mine. I opened my mouth, just slightly, and she followed willingly.

Everything felt so slick and _alive_. Goodness gracious, how I love kissing!

Our tongues touched briefly, and the kiss grew more erotic. It had been a very long time since I had kissed anyone like that; not since Louis DeBrena. But even with him it hadn't been this good, because he did not have Gilda's soul.

My tongue slid softly against Gilda's and I felt her shiver. I grew hard yet again, but at last I had the satisfaction of sensing her own desires rising alongside mine.

I broke the kiss, then tilted my head again to get at her delicious mouth from another angle, and I kissed her just as thoroughly a second time. She breathed with me as our mouths tangled. When I finally released her lips, we were both smiling, and she sighed, long and satisfied.

I hadn't expected to have sex with her this soon, but if she was ready for me, I was not going to disappoint. If my Pot Roast had been any indication, she was receptive to the idea, at least. But once again I should have realized which of my many attractive features trumped the other; in this case, music won out over food.

_No matter_, I thought, looking down into her dark eyes, _because she wants me now_. I slid one hand to her lower back and looked down at her with a lust in my eyes that I could no longer conceal, then I pushed my hips against hers – just a light brush. Never overbearing. Just enough to let her know that I was as eager to play with her body as she was with mine.

"Oh dear…" Gilda said, smiling as she leaned against me, looking up at me with such beautiful want on her face, sliding her palms down my shirt to the belt of my trousers.

_And away we go!_

Ah…

You know, it still pains me to think about this. It's quite embarrassing. Simply put, _I do not like being had_. Not by another demon, or a damn Reaper, and _especially_ not by some human. Not even one who smells as sweet as she does.

To my horror, Gilda's right hand dipped lower and… pat the front of my bulging trousers like it was the top of a child's head. One that had misbehaved.

She tsk-tsked, shaking her head back and forth. "Why don't you get a _hold_ of yourself, Demon," she scolded. "I mean, like, _literally_, 'cause I'm not gonna do it for you."

She smiled sarcastically. Abruptly extracting herself from my arms, she turned away. HHHHumming a pleasant tune and limping off on her bad leg, she left me standing alone in the salon, hands full of air and pants full of want.

I clenched my teeth, intentionally holding my temper in check. Walking towards the French doors of the salon that led to the outside, I let myself out. I strode towards the heavily shaded sunken garden, found the dark, shallow wishing pool in the middle, and sat down in it.

By the time I cooled off and climbed out, there was steam curling off the black surface of the water. All the lovely Koi – hand picked by yours truly to go with her precious goddamn Japanese Maples – were dead. They were _cooked through_ I tell you, and had floated to the top.

Damn it all. Yet _another_ thing I had to clean up and replace. I had half a mind to toss some of their prettier corpses onto a platter and serve them for dinner – _as is_.

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it. Thanks!


	6. Chapter 6

Sebastian's – Alexander's – POV. Our Demon Butler exacts a little personal revenge, and the past comes back to irritate him.

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Rated M. **

• **Flying beta-less. Forgive the typos.**

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 6**

•

Although her ribs were healing nicely, and the cuts on her lips were nearly gone, Gilda's left leg was still an issue.

Ever since I had brought her home, I saw to it that she got a daily massage immediately after each sponge bath, as per her physical therapy requirements. She had finally allowed me to clean her more efficiently during the sponge baths, but I noted that after the incident with the violin she was much more comfortable with me touching her.

Perhaps that is not the correct way of putting it. In point of fact, she was _lording_ it over me. A few days after our impromptu duet, she watched from the salon's French doors as I released some new koi into the wishing pool. When I came back in and she asked me what had happened, I was forced to tell her the truth. Her 'guffaws' were bad enough, but then she had the nerve to tease me about it.

"Jeez, Alex! Temper much? You go off and kill a bunch of harmless fishies just 'cause I won't let you fuck my brains out?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I could, literally, do _just that_.

But I was miffed, and I had to get back at her somehow. So I turned up the heat during her leg massage.

I selected a different massage oil this time, not one as prescribed but one from my personal stores. The scent was strong, evocative of musks and flowers, and it was known to stimulate blood flow and cause a warming sensation. I don't remember exactly which plants it was made from, but Agni, servant to Prince Soma, had introduced me to it after we became friends.

"_This is a very powerful love oil. It puts his highness in the most glorious of moods. Yes, indeed!"_

Love oil. Glorious mood. That was a good start.

After drying her skin off. I put her t-shirt and panties back on her, as she was still insisting to be naked as little as possible in front of me. Taking the bottle of oil in my hand, I poured a teaspoon or so into my palm. Gilda immediately commented on the scent.

"That's pretty," she said, gazing up at me and toying with a chunk of her pretty hair like a coy little bitch. "What is it?"

"An ancient blend, known to improve blood flow and… relieve crankiness," I said.

What? How was that a lie?

"Relieve crankiness?" she quipped. "Very funny."

I smirked, and got down to business. Distributing the oil from one palm to another, I took her thigh in my hands and gently spread the liquid over her skin. This time, I would give her my undivided attention, putting my all into getting her where I wanted her.

When the oil was distributed properly, I began the deep tissue massaging. My strokes started out soft, knowing it was best to build up to these things. Starting at her knee, I pressed my thumbs into the top of her thigh, and stroked upward very slowly. When my thumbs reached the junction of her hip and thigh, I reversed direction and pressed my fingers into the back of her thigh as I returned downwards to her knee. Over and over, neatly avoiding touching anything above the invisible line of _oh-no-you-don't-Alex_ as I went. Her skin began to warm under my hands, and she closed her eyes while sighing in bliss.

I had longed for a moment just like this since contracting with her. Her soft sighs were a lovely sound to my demon ears. It was a sound that made me reconsider, if only for a moment, what I was about to do.

_No. She needs to be taught a lesson._

That invisible line beckoned, and with the next upwards stroke, I crossed it. My thumb grazed her hip, and I saw her eyes snap open to stare at the ceiling as I soothed my way back down.

"Alex?"

"Hmm?" I asked, pretending not to notice anything was amiss.

Up, down, and again, gaining no ground, but not relinquishing any, either. Again.

"Never mind," she said, closing her eyes. She threw an arm over her face, relaxing further.

Up, closer this time. And again. A slight gasp escaped her pretty lips, but she didn't protest. My thumb grazed across her hipbone, and she trembled as though she had been tickled. The next time I came up, I nudged the edge, _just_ the edge, of her bikini panties. She inhaled a sharp breath.

"Does this feel all right, Miss Gilda?" I asked on the way back down.

For a moment, she was quiet. "God, _yes,_" she finally breathed. Her head lolled to the side of her pillow.

I pushed it just a little further the next time. Down again, her thigh was slick, oily and _hot_ under my hands, then up again… each time going further and further until finally I was brushing her sex through the thin cotton panel on the front of her panties with each upward pass. The cotton became damp, and I could feel her flesh beginning to swell, so I kept going. Her eyes clenched shut and she began gripping the sheets under her fingers. I watched her, smug with satisfaction, as she writhed.

"_Alex,"_ she moaned, torso rising, nipples hardening under her t-shirt. _"Please don't stop,"_ she begged.

So I did.

"Wha…" she said, sitting up slightly and breathing hard. She opened her eyes to find me wiping the oil off of my hands. I smiled at her sweetly as I tossed the towel aside and rolled my sleeves back down, buttoning the cuffs.

"What the hell are you doing? You're _leaving?"_

"Yes, to prepare your lunch, Mistress. Your thigh muscles feel _quite_ loose now. Why don't you take a nice nap?"

I turned on my heel and left her there, hot, bothered and _alone_, and pointedly closed the door behind me. Poor thing. She either didn't know or didn't care that I could hear her angry grunts as she finished herself off while I made her next meal.

•

"You _have_ washed your hands, yes?" I asked a bit later, lowering a tray onto her lap. She sat up and looked straight ahead, eyes 'bugging' out. "Because I am serving _finger_ sandwiches for lunch," I said, pouring it on thick.

Tease _me,_ will you?

Ah, revenge. Spontaneous, fleeting… but so very sweet.

•

Around one thirty-six in the a.m., I heard Gilda hobbling out of bed. I assumed it was to use the toilet; her leg was still giving her some pain, but she had been getting around a bit by herself, and frankly she needed the practice doing these things on her own, so I this time left her to it.

To my surprise, however, she made her way down the hall to my private room. I looked up from the papers on my writing desk when she knocked softly on the doorframe. I kept my door – really, _all_ the doors in the manor – open. Even the door to Gilda's bedroom, and especially at night. There was no need for such strict privacy as our retainers were not live-ins and it was just Gilda and myself most of the time. And, I hoped, it would promote a stronger sense of openness towards me on her part.

"Mistress? Can you not sleep – are you in pain?" I got up immediately and went to her, taking her by the elbow and helping her towards a chair.

"No, no – I'm okay." She placed a hand on my arm but refused the seat. "But I can't sleep. I keep hearing something."

I frowned. What could her human ears possibly notice that mine wouldn't hear first? Still, it made me tense. "What do you hear, then?"

"It sounds like a gurgle… or a pump. Something pumping water. I don't remember seeing one, but do we have a sump pump in the basement? It rains a lot this time of year around here."

"This manor has no need of a _sump pump_, Miss," and I said the word as though it were the sludge it eliminated. "I assure you that the basement of this house is fully waterproofed and finished." The basement was partially exposed with its own doors to the outside property, as the back end of the manor was built onto a hilly slope. However, I had a feeling I knew what she was hearing. And I would have to compliment her on her sharp hearing. "I think you are hearing the pump for the pool in the sub-basement."

She raised her eyebrows, confused. "We… we have a _pool?_ Really?"

"Yes. Off the main basement is another room, set slightly lower, with a built-in pool."

"You're kidding me!" Her eyes lit up so fiercely I thought they may have had an electrical source. "Take me to it, right now!"

I picked up Gilda in my arms, and we carefully tread the stairs down from the first level to the main floor, then from the main floor to the basement. We strode past a collection of arcade-style gaming machines, pool tables, a comfortable sitting area with a sound system and flat screen televisions, then past the bar and across the small dance floor, until we got to a door at the back of the basement.

"I never even saw this door the first time you took me down here," Gilda murmured. She also hadn't been in the basement since that day, apparently having no interest in what I had done with the place.

I had thought of festive parties, you see.

"My apologies for neglecting to show you," I said, honestly. I pushed through the door backwards, leaning on it with my back, and the overhead lights came on as we entered. Her jaw dropped open.

"Your swimming pool, Mistress."

It was a regulation-sized pool, complete with competitive lanes and a deep end with diving boards. There were also a few round, shallow pools with jet streams connected to the main pool but set off to the side, for the more social sort of swimmer. Setting her to her feet, I turned to the master panel on the wall just inside the door, also connected to the intercom and security system.

I would not spare any expense for either her comfort or enjoyment, but the entire manor was also a secure facility. Gilda was my prize, the first of her kind since Ciel. I was taking _no_ chances with her and this manor was armed, as it were, for bear.

With the flick of a few switches, the jets came on in the social pools, the filtration system kicked in, and all of the underwater lights lit up. The pleasant sound of bubbling water and a bright, safe light filled the room, dancing across my Mistress' eyes and beckoning her to jump in.

Along the tops of the room just below the ceiling were glass-block windows letting in plenty of light – during the day, anyway – on three sides. Down one long side of the pool was a door to a room marked 'private', and two public changing rooms were next to that, one designated for 'gentlemen' and one for 'ladies'.

Again, wonderful parties had been in my thoughts, ones where I could watch my mistress interact with her friends… and more importantly her enemies. She _had _to have some, being as talented as she was. Since bringing her home, however, I lost hope of that sort of thing ever happening. Perhaps this would change her mind.

"Oh my _gawd!"_ She yelped, and her voice echoed across the water and bounced off the walls. "Why didn't you _tell_ me we had a pool?"

"Again, I _am_ sorry," I said, smiling at her happy reaction. What a surprise to see her so enthralled by something other than that damn piano. I hoped, someday, she'd be just as enthralled by _me. _"Given your lukewarm response to the rest of the basement, I didn't think you'd have any interest, Mistress."

"What – stupid TV and video games? Are you kidding? There's no comparison! I _love_ the water. Oh, Alex, it's not so very late… and I haven't been swimming in years. Please, can I go in for a bit?" She put on her best begging face, which was rather cute if she only did it for a short time, and clasped her hands together.

An idea struck. One that would possibly kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. And I know she'd enjoy as well if she'd just allow herself to relax.

"Mistress, the hour does not affect me whatsoever, and you yourself do not have to get up early for anything yet. And to tell you the truth, this _would_ be very good therapy for your leg. But," and I gave her the most sympathetic smile I had in my repertoire of facial expressions, "I have yet to order you any swimwear."

I wasn't lying. I truly hadn't.

"Well, I guess I could swim in my undies." She wrinkled her nose and I wrinkled my in response. "Yeah, that's never really comfortable."

I went in for the kill. Tossing my idea out to her, I quipped, "Why not skinny dip?" She bit her lip, eyeing me. "Well, it's not like I haven't already seen you in your altogether." Now she looked worried. "I'll tell you what, then. I happen to love a good swim myself. I'll show you mine since you've shown me yours."

She blushed, and grinned, finally, and I knew that we were going swimming. I went back upstairs to get several clean towels as I hadn't stocked the changing room with supplies yet. The pool was stocked, of course, with blow-up toys and rafts and cup holders and lawn chairs, but no fresh linens.

I was on my way back down, looking forward to getting naked with my prey, when I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from where I'd left her. Quick as a wink, I was at her side. Apparently while I was gone she took it upon herself to venture into the ladies changing room. She was leaning heavily on a doorjamb, favoring her leg as though she had barely made it there. When she saw me, she climbed into my arms and whined.

"Mistress! What is it? Are you hurt?" I said sternly, ready to tear apart another demon, or worse.

"Sp… Spispi… _spider," _she finally got out, climbing higher into my arms and pointing towards the toilets. "And it's fucking _huge!"_

I had to keep myself from laughing. Setting her down, I told her to stay put, and opened the door to the water closet she had pointed at.

We were in the North Eastern United States, upstate New York to be exact, although what was either _new_ or _Yorkish_ about it, I had no idea. In any case, the forests of these regions had plenty of bugs to go around. Given the manor's property spanned one hundred and sixty-seven acres, and most of that was forest, there was little doubt we'd eventually see something slightly more exotic than what was commonly found in a suburban American backyard. This was a Cross Spider, a female, and she was heavy with eggs. The white cross on her back stared at me, daring me to do something about it. The insect must have crawled in from the garden outside looking for a place to hide near a water source as she prepared to make hundreds more of herself.

_More of you? Not in **this** manor, my dear._

Gilda probably didn't like spiders because, well, she was a human girl. I didn't like them for entirely different reasons. I destroyed the bug in one swipe, obliterating her body and any young inside her to their basic molecules.

"Gone," I said happily, emerging from the water closet and smiling at my Mistress. "Would you like to tinkle now?"

Tilting her head sarcastically, she said, "_No_, I was just poking around." She cleared her throat. "Alex?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"I have an order for you."

I smiled excitedly. They were rare.

"Splendid! What is it?"

"I order you to destroy every single insect that is inside this entire house tomorrow, and you are to maintain a general bug-free-ness in it from here on out. Do you understand?"

I bowed low, my hand to my black heart. "Yes, my dear Mistress."

Oh, thrilling! It wasn't much, but she'd actually _ordered_ me to do something, _and_ it involved killing!

When I stood back up, she was biting her lip and blushing. Smiling, I picked her up again and carried her to the private room. "This is the changing room for Miss, not the other," I said pointedly, and she noticed the difference immediately. Those other two rooms were more like what one would find at a public pool. This was a changing room for Gilda's personal use, one that I had lovingly appointed specifically for her with a phone line, intercom, couch and chairs, and a small kitchen, as well as the expected full bath.

I set her to her feet again, and began to remove her sleeping attire. Her night to pick, so it was a t-shirt and those cute, androgynous panties called 'boy-shorts'. The t-shirt was too plain for my tastes but I _adored_ her in boy-shorts! She offered no resistance, and was nude before me within moments as though she'd done so a thousand times before. I folded her clothing and set it on a soft chair. When I started to unbutton my black shirt, she came up to me and swatted my hands away.

"Turnabout is fair play, Alexander," she said quietly, and proceeded to undress me. There were no rude comments, just a small smile playing about her mouth as she fiddled with buttons, sleeves, undershirt. I caught her admiring the smooth plane of my chest muscles for a moment, then she moved on to shoes, socks, belt, zipper, pant legs. When she got to the boxers, she hesitated.

"You're sure?" she asked softly, looking up into my eyes. "Once we do this you can't take it back, you know."

"It's meaningless," I said. "It is just a body. I am perfectly comfortable with nudity no matter what form I take. You are the one that has to be sure, Miss Gilda."

"All right then, here we go," she said, a nervous smile on her face. I saw her close her eyes as she dragged my silk boxers down. She held them as I stepped out from the legs, freeing me from all clothing. Tossing the boxers onto the pile of my clothes – and I had a strong urge to fold them properly but I ignored it – Gilda stood up and turned to face me. A pretty blush came over her whole body.

"Look all you want, Miss. You own it."

_For now._

"Alex, _don't_," she said, smiling fiercely.

To be clear, it isn't like I walk around trying to impress her by sporting a giant erection all day long. That would be vulgar. But this was new territory for us, and she was reacting pretty much as I had expected her to. It was sensitive ground that needed to be covered if I were to get any further with her sexually, and a naked swim was as good a place to start as any. A great place, even.

Gilda blushed harder and closed her eyes. I walked up to her and put a finger under her chin, making physical contact without asking permission. I knew she found me attractive, I could smell it growing stronger on her day by day, but now was not the time. When she opened her eyes and looked up at me, I simply said, "Let's go for a swim."

I carried her to the shallow end and descended the stairs. Even though I introduced her to the water slowly, she still gasped at the coolness once it hit her.

"Too cold?" I asked. "I can adjust that."

"Not right now. I'll get used to it. But I'd like it warmer next time, if you can."

"You can have anything you want, Miss. Do you plan to swim often?"

"You bet," she said, grinning.

"Then we need to see what you leg can do. Do you swim laps?"

"I can, sure. Let me try."

I set her free in the five-foot depth, and she gripped the wall. Positioning herself, she pushed off and swam away from me to cross the width of the pool one time. I walked in tandem behind her, ready to support her if need be. She did so well I expected her to push off from the wall and keep going, but she stopped.

"Does it hurt?"

"A bit," she said, wiping the water from her face and pushing her hair behind her ears. "But not enough to stop. I need to work the muscle."

She did five more laps, stopping between each at the pool's edge, until she said her thigh was throbbing a bit and she had to stop. Her swimming was very good; just the standard breaststroke, of course, no 'butterfly' or anything fancy, but she was strong and consistent and could save herself from drowning if need be.

"No more laps tonight, you just relax a bit." I moved closer to her, and bade her hold on to the edge while I massaged the thigh under the water. "You're doing very well, you know," I said quietly, close to her ear. "This leg will be better in no time." The muscle eventually relaxed, and so did she. I smiled, pulling her away from the edge by her hands and wrapped them around my neck.

"Let's go to the center and play a game."

At the five-foot depth, she stood on her own with her head just out of the water. I had her close her eyes and listen to where I was in the pool. After silence ensued, she had to guess and swim to me, not opening her eyes. She got it right less than half the time – I confess gave her plenty of false hints. I am quite sneaky, and able to swim great lengths underwater, having no actual need to breathe (although I do it to make you humans more comfortable), and at speeds you cannot possibly achieve.

When I searched for her, of course I always found her.

Once last time I waited under a diving board in the deep end, and she had stopped and opened her eyes while still in the lanes. "That isn't fair," she whined, turning to face me and trying not to giggle. "You've got super-senses. I can't compete with that." I swam up to her, and when I got close enough, she placed her hands on my shoulders.

"Ah, but I never said I would play fair, Miss. I only promised not to lie."

She feigned pouting, and I narrowed my eyes at her. Sighing, she put her head on my chest and draped her arms around my neck, allowing me to spin her about in the refreshing water.

This was good. Naked or not, she was _enjoying_ being close to me. Her skin was slick and warm under the water, and I took advantage of our positions, running a palm over her smooth back. I have to confess to you here and now that I cannot get enough of her back, it is absolutely addictive, from her neck to her shoulder blades to the bumps on her spine. It is very difficult for me to keep from entering her room at night just to remove her top and stroke the skin there with my bare hands while she sleeps. As a demon, I could do it, you know, without waking her. But I am her butler. So until I am invited, or _ordered_…

I pulled her in against me and encouraged her to hold on tighter. She complied – _good girl _– and I swam backwards leisurely almost the entire length of the pool while she lay against me. "This is nice," she finally said, and I could not argue the point. "The water feels good."

That wasn't the only thing that felt good. She, however, seemed absolutely unconcerned that we were naked, and that my genitals were making the occasional contact with her body.

I had to keep reminding myself about certain facts. One was that I enjoyed intimate relations with humans, very _very_ much, but while under contract, sex was basically a tool for me to get my way. Experiencing an orgasm was lovely now and then, but to be honest, I didn't do much of it. When intimate with my prey I tend to concentrate on _their_ pleasure, because the bliss I instill in them makes their scent blossom. If I can keep their attachment to me strong until the end, it produces a juicier meal.

I wanted very much to use sex as a 'weapon' with this prey – that sounds quite mean, actually – but sexually, Gilda was far more complicated than Loius, or any of the other humans I'd been with before her.

I do not count Ciel here, because we are discussing sex. I never had the pleasure of being with him. I would not have been his first sexual experience, but I would have been the first to take him gently, and with a good measure of affection. I regret that I failed to give him that.

Now lingering about in the deep end, she finally spoke. "I'm sorry I was so weird in the changing room."

I smiled at her. "Nonsense. All new things take getting used to."

"You didn't have to get used to _my_ naked body." She shifted in the water so that she could face me as we spoke.

"Ah, but I am your butler Miss. And a demon. While my employ with you demands that I not be affected by such things, my true nature guarantees it."

"Well… whatever you are, you're kinda beautiful. So I didn't want to stare."

How thoughtful. And unnecessary.

I stopped myself from reiterating that she had the right to stare all she liked. Rushing Gilda was going to get me nowhere, and she had finally taken another step forward with me. Tonight was not about sex. Intimacy, yes, but not sex. I put any salacious thoughts from my mind and concentrated on the moment.

After awhile I got out, leaving her treading as she held securely onto a ladder. If she had watched me walking around naked, I wasn't going to embarrass her about it. I grabbed a few retrievable objects and tossed a floating lawn chair into the deep end where she waited for me. Getting back in, I played lifeguard on the chair, while Gilda swam like a fish and retrieved the objects from the bottom as I tossed them into the pool.

I had no doubt she was going to be sore as hell the next day. No matter; she'd simply need a longer, more thorough massage, and I would _happily_ provide that. I'd force Gilda out of the pool later, when her fingers had sufficiently pruned, but for now I crossed my legs and relaxed, watching my little water baby play about.

•

Two steps forward, one step back, as your kind says.

Two days later, late in the morning, I came upon her making a racket in her bedroom – on her knees, her sweet rear end jutting up as she rummaged through one of her closets, pulling things out and tossing them aside as she desperately searched for something.

_I am going to have to clean all that up._

Sighing, I entered the room. "Mistress, what on earth are you looking for?"

Her head popped out of the closet, and the expression on her face reminded me of a mouse being caught by a cat. Quite appropriate, actually.

"There was a box… A box I had in here. Did you move it?" She sounded angry. And guilty.

Of course, I knew what she was talking about. _May as well get this over with._

"Are you referring to those items you bought off the internet last week? The lock box, and that sexual appliance – a _'life-like silicone dildo'_ I believe was the terminology that was listed on the receipt – and some water-based lubricant?"

"Oh God in heaven," she whined, hiding her face in her hands. "How in the fuck do you know…"

She trailed off, but I continued, confused as to why she was so embarrassed. I thought we were past all of that. "Once I broke the lock off, it was simply a matter of opening the lid and looking inside. I threw it all away–"

"_What? _You had no right to do that! That was _private," _she said, gritting her teeth.

"I assure you, Miss, there is absolutely nothing you can keep private from me."

Her mouth – the 'o' – ah, lovely. It would be so easy to–

"Why did you throw it away? It was mine!" She stood up and walked over to me.

"You have no need of such things. Not anymore."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"I know that you masturbate. I know _when_ you touch yourself. You close your door and ask for privacy, but I can smell it, and I can hear it. Obviously, since you have purchased a sex appliance, you have a need for something more satisfying than what your hands alone can provide. You do not need fake a penis to achieve that. I tell you once again that as your butler, I will gladly provide–"

"Stop oh my gawd just _stop_!" she screamed.

My goodness, what a little brat. She had interrupted me twice already. I _despised_ being interrupted. If she did that a third time I just may have to spank her.

"Mistress, I do not understand your difficulty with this. I've kissed you, passionately, so you know I am good at that." I conveniently left out the fact that she was just as good at it as I was. "You were on the verge of an orgasm the other morning during your leg massage." Also conveniently leaving out the fact that I completely manipulated her that time, and then left her to her own devices before properly finishing her off. "And our little adventure swimming naked in the pool together provided you with plenty of visual evidence that I am _more_ than properly equipped to–"

"Gaaaaah!" she screamed, clamping her hands over her ears. "Get out get out get out I order you to get _out! Jesus Christ!"_ She clenched her eyes shut, and pointed at the door, so I left.

I am _never_ going to understand your species.

•

Later that day, Gilda received a phone call on her new 'cell' phone from a woman named Nancy Sorenson. My Mistress was at work in the salon at the time, quite embroiled in her composition as a matter of fact, and I was not going to tolerate an interruption when she was making such headway. I took a message, getting the woman's phone number. I gave the message to Gilda when she was finished for the day, but before I handed it over, I looked up the woman on the internet.

There was precious little information, save that she lived in Boston, Massachusetts, and from what I could tell, in a small apartment in a not-so-nice neighborhood. The staff had reported in that day, and I took Uncle Rafael aside and inquired about this Nancy Sorenson with him, but he had no idea. Concerned, he asked if he should ask Fortunado about it, but I told him to wait until I had more information.

Gilda took the message, intentionally not looking at me or saying much about it. All I got was a curt response.

"You can let my cell phone calls go into my voice mail when I don't answer them, all right, Alex?"

_My demonic ass I would._

And yet, propriety forced me to ask:

"Is that an order, Miss?"

She paused before sipping her soup.

"It's an order, demon."

"Yes, Mistress, as you wish."

_Dammit._

She called the woman later, sneaking outside to use her cell phone in the garden. Of course, since she went so far out of her way to keep it from me, I simply _had_ to listen. Perched in a tree above her, I heard her keep the conversation very short, asking the woman not to call her cell again, and promising she'd call her next week when she was back in school and could talk more freely. She ended the call and that was it.

I could not let this go. There was her _safety_ to consider. We got into another row over it, unfortunately.

I finally pressed her later that night, after her sponge bath, pain pill and hair drying. She was sitting on her bed, with me kneeling behind her as I combed out her long, lovely locks.

"Leave it alone, Alex."

"But is she a threat to you? Is that why you are being so quiet about it?"

"_No_. I said quit asking and I _mean_ it. Leave this one alone!"

She was quite brassed off at that point, and not in the same way she had been during our previous spat that morning. Here I thought the dildo thing had bothered her – but my nosing about into this particular subject was bothering her much more.

As long as there was no immediate threat from it, I realized however reluctantly that I needed to leave it be. "If I have overstepped my bounds, Mistress," I said gently, "you have my apologies." I finished brushing her hair and tied a silk ribbon around it at the base of her neck. "Does Miss have any other needs I can attend to before she retires?"

"_No."_

She lay down in the middle of the huge bed, turning on her side and giving me her back. The sight of her young body clad in a silk negligee that was clinging to her luscious curves was very provocative – _I get to pick her sleepwear on __**my**__ days as well _– but her body language was making it clear that she was done with me.

"Very well," I said, pulling the covers up over her and tucking her in, safe and sound. "Good night, Mistress." I switched off the bedside lamp and turned to leave. But before I reached the door to her bedroom, she flipped over and called out to me.

I responded immediately. "Yes, Miss Gilda?"

There was a pause, then she said, "I'm sorry I bit your head off."

I smiled. She really was quite vexing, but in an enticing sort of way.

"Not at all, Mistress. Pleasant dreams."

•

It was well past midnight when I was pretending to get some paperwork done, musing about whether or not Gilda was warm enough in that fantastically sexy number she was wearing. I was seriously considering checking on her when I was startled out of my woolgathering. A huge crash that sounded like shattering glass and splintering wood was heard from Gilda's room. She screamed my name, and I tore down the hall and burst into her bedroom to find–

"You wretched little _whore!_ Bassie's _mine_, I tell you!"

A streak of red flew towards her bed, but I flew faster. By the time Grell Sutcliff realized he was standing on her bed and sawing through a feather pillow, it was too late. Gilda stood safely behind me in her flimsy outfit, away from the crazy Reaper of my nightmares.

"_Bitch!"_ he screamed, leaping off the bed towards us.

I growled, and my fangs popped out. I do _not_ like late callers. "Sutcliff, you will leave _immediately_. My Mistress needs her sleep."

Sensing my extreme anger, Grell backed away slightly, pouting for good measure. Gilda wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled up closer against me, I assumed out of fear. It felt very nice considering how little she was wearing, but it turns out that her real goal had been to lean sideways a bit to get a better look at her attacker.

Grell took one look at Gilda, in her skimpy red nightie, with her shiny red toenails, and her bright red hair ribbon… and gasped.

"She's… She's simply _stunning," _he whispered, and I honestly thought the pansy was going to faint. I didn't think the night could get any worse, but then Gilda spoke.

"Omigawd… _Where _did you get that coat? It's so _cool!"_

"Oh, darling! Never mind that, I simply _adore_ that negligee!"

I was, needless to say, stunned. She was _not_ making girlfriends with the likes of _him._ No. I would forbid it.

"Geez, Alex, get out of the _way_ already," Gilda spat, pushing me aside and reaching out, to my abject horror, _towards_ Grell the Gaudy Reaper. "My God, is this _wool?"_ she whispered, gently grasping the lapel of that poor dead woman's coat. Ciel, wherever he may be, must have been retching.

Grell immediately threw aside his Death Scythe, and began _stroking _the silk of her tiny garment_. _"Does this come in my size, do you think?"

I flinched. _He was touching my Mistress. _

"It's so soft… And so _red!_ This must have cost you a_ fortune,_" Gilda gushed.

"You will never know!" Grell screeched, hurting my ears. "When I saw it, I had to have it, but of course I had to wait until it was up for grabs," he said, waving his hands in the air like a fairy that couldn't fly. "Then I pounced!"

Yes. _Pounced_. Like flies on fecal matter.

I could feel the bile rising in my throat and the fury rising in my gut. Grell must have felt the demonic change in my mood because he looked past Gilda and focused on me. The giant, stupid grin fell from his face immediately and he swallowed hard. When she noticed his discomfort, Gilda turned back to look at me. Seeing my eyes aglow, she produced a rather unlady-like snort and rolled her eyes.

Turning back to Grell, she said, "Oh, don't worry about him, he always does that. Let's go grab some junk food and look at my latest catalog – there's a pair of high-heeled lace-up cherry red patent leather boots in there that'd go _perfect_ with this coat. And I'll buy 'em for you if you let me borrow it! C'mon!" She tugged on his hand.

Disgusting!

"Only if you let me try on that nightie so I can model it for Bassie!"

_Oh no…_

"Who the fuck is Bassie?" Gilda asked, bewildered.

_Sutcliff keep your damn mouth SHUT for once._

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know!" Grell sing-songed, as Gilda dragged him out of her room, not even bothering to put a robe on over her nightie. The one that _I_ bought her, so that _I _could slowly peel it off of her some night… teasing her into oblivion.

Well. _Nearly_ into oblivion. That would come later. Heh.

They moved down the stairs together, chattering like teenage girls the entire time. "Oh, Sebas-chan!" He called back to me over his shoulder, "I _like_ this one! I do hope you intend to keep her longer than that little brat!"

"_Again_ with the name stuff?" Gilda asked, annoyed, which made Grell giggle, high-pitched and annoying. "Alex told me some of his evil supernatural buddies would show up and try to kill me, but I just can't see it with you. _You're_ adorable!"

Before I knew it, they had disappeared through the swinging door to the dining room. I stood there at the top of the stairs, fuming, as the door finally stopped moving.

So much for me controlling Gilda in her choice of playmates.

I took a deep breath and counted to ten, and I confess that when I exhaled there was a little bit of smoke coming out of my nostrils. Then I stomped downstairs into the dining room, because there was no way in my version of Hell or anyone else's that I was going to leave her alone with _him_.

Grell stayed until the wee hours of the morning, their little party eventually moved back upstairs to Gilda's bedroom, where they tried on every single piece of red clothing she had, from the hideous 'punk' things Gilda had bought for herself without my consultation, to the expensive, designer things _I_ had painstakingly selected to go with her hair, coloring and body type. Neither Gilda nor Grell seemed disconcerted by the fact that they were undressing in front of each other, let alone _me_.

"Oh, _please," _she said, gesturing casually to her now-nude body, "He's already had his hands all over this!"

"Oh, you _lucky_ girl!"

Unable to watch but determined to remain in the room, I busied myself with cleaning up the mess Sutcliff had made with his grand entrance and fixed the window with inhuman speed. When I turned back to them, I saw they were discarding every article of clothing on the floor like spoiled princesses – creating more work for _me_, of course.

All of the things Grell tried on would have to be laundered. _Again._ Even Gilda's precious red panties had the unfortunate fate of directly touching his Reaper body. I will not soon forget the sight of Grell Sutcliff standing before me in women's red satin bikini panties, crotch fairly bulging with unfamiliar contents, little bows on the sides jutting out over his thin male hip bones, with him happily screeching _'does this make me look fat?'_

Those, I planned to incinerate.

At the very least, I was grateful that the subject of my former name was not brought up again, lest I, or God forbid, _Grell Sutcliff_ reveal details about my past contracts to my current prey. I tried to pick up after them as they barreled on, but I tell you now… giddy girls on a mission to plow through a closet's contents are damn hard to keep up with.

When I could no longer take it, I insisted that the red bitch be on his way, as my Mistress was technically still recovering from her wounds and needed her sleep. Ignoring her protestations, I stuffed Grell's naked being back into his stolen coat and balled up the clothes he came in with into his hands. Then I yanked him out of Gilda's room by his red collar and dragged him down the long staircase. When I got to the manor's front doors, I tossed him out on his tacky backside to the drive below, his clothes flying everywhere.

"But Sebas-chan!" he cried, wallowing half-nude on the pebbles. I loomed over him on the front porch, in a manner that at least _I_ thought was dark and threatening… but the idiot simply went on with his tantrum. "We hadn't even gotten to Gillie's _shoes_ yet!"

"Now you listen to me, you menace. Obviously my Mistress has taken a liking to you. While I cannot seem to do anything about that _now,_ it is clear to me that you intend to call again. That being said, I will not be able to stop your," here, I sneered, "_friendship_ from progressing, but I insist that if you want to see Miss Gilda in future you _make an appointment first!"_

"Oh, _Bassie!"_ he whined, and proceeded to start crying. It just made me hate him all the more.

"My _name_, you filthy pervert, is _Alexander."_

The last thing I saw was a grotesque, petulant pout on his face as I slammed the doors shut, locking them for good measure. I thought it not possible for a demon, but right then I had a terrible headache.

I stood at the front window and watched as he gathered up his clothes and put them back on, slowly, dejectedly, _sniveling_ like a baby the entire time. When I felt confident that he had finally left, I stomped up the stairs to Gilda's bedroom.

Well. So much for establishing good bedtime routines. Gilda had already decided to pass out on her lavish bed, sans a second sponge bath and hair combing to get his stink off of her person. Yes, Sutcliff managed to see that even _that_ small pleasure was robbed from me. I sighed, getting her under the covers lest she catch a chill, and silently cleaned up her room before leaving her for the night.

Grell didn't show up again for some time, thankfully. But unfortunately he and Gilda had bonded. When the ridiculous boots she had ordered for him arrived, along with a clunky pair of penny loafers in the same awful shade for her own use, she ordered me to contact him so that she could, and I quote, "_Give her a present. We're like BGFFs Alex',_ she'd said, whatever the hell that meant, _'and you __**will**__ be polite to her.'_

Yes, you heard correctly. Gilda took to calling Grell a '_her'. _Gods…

Dreading the day of his return, I put it off for as long as I could. And when Grell Sutcliff did show up, I insisted that his superior William T. Spears escort him.

While Grell simply irritates me, I do not like William, as he despises demons in general and we have come to blows in the past. I find him dangerous. But he is an efficient and rule-abiding Reaper, well-mannered and concerned with the ethics of his profession – very much so like myself in that regard. I must say, however, that he did seem slightly distracted that evening, glancing at Gilda frequently. I guess even Reapers are susceptible to the charms of a pretty woman.

In any case, with the both of us playing chaperone, we managed to keep the let's-try-on-my-shoes party to a short, if only slightly annoying visit.

It was troubling, I tell you. I didn't relish having lost as much control over Gilda as I already had, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it either. She was a headstrong young woman. I added her friendship with Grell Sutcliff to the swiftly growing list of things that were eating away at me with regard to this contract.

•

Ahh… _bath time. _Finally.

A speck of dirt would be noticeable to my demon eyes, even a molecule of foreign substance was easy for me to smell on my most delicious prey. It did not belong on her person, I did not want it there, and that is the number one reason why I looked forward to bath time with the souls I contract with.

Even though she had clearly enjoyed our swim a few nights previous, I had been reluctant to rush her past the ease and gentleness (and the unique brand of intimacy) of her sponge baths to the coordination of getting her in and out of a tub. But now her leg was finally up to the challenge. We graduated to the real thing – a large cast iron number I had been fantasizing about since the day it had arrived at her door.

After a tentative few moments actually getting her into the tub, she was now steeped to her collarbone in hot, soapy water. It had to have felt nice soaking like that instead of being sponged off, especially after being laid up all this time. And I was, of course, fully prepared to take advantage of her ebbing fatigue.

For the most part she let me scrub to my heart's content, relaxing into my ministrations while I hummed and sponged the day's dirt from her skin. Not a peep escaped her lips as I cleansed, stroked and soothed her back, knees, ankles, neck, breasts, nipples… It was delightful just to touch all that wonderful flesh and I made sure to use my hands as well as the sponge.

Oh, my lovely prey. The cleaner I keep them, the happier they are, and the tastier the final meal…

I honestly hadn't been thinking of anything at all untoward, I was just progressing as I saw fit, when Gilda suddenly stopped me. Slender, talented fingers that belied their own strength were suddenly around my wrist, fiercely halting my hand from scrubbing any lower on her tummy than I already had. I stopped, my face inches from hers, and didn't need to fake the look of confusion I wore.

"Mistress? Is there something the matter?" I tried to keep my tone neutral, but to be honest she had truly caught me off guard. Up until that point I had no reason to believe that she'd ever want me to stop.

Gilda smirked at me then, pulling my hand from under the water level and removing the soft sponge from my grasp. "I'll take it from here, Alex."

I smirked back at her. Two could play at that game.

"Is that an _order_, Miss?"

I leaned my forearms on the edge of the tub and eyed her playfully. Warm, soapy drops of water fell from my black fingernails to the surface of the bath water, and it was the only sound we could hear.

"I know what you're playing at, Demon," she finally muttered. "For _some_ things, you should be mindful of getting my permission – _before_ you try to do them."

"I believe I already _have_ your permission to buttle for you, Miss Gilda. That was part of the contract… or have you forgotten?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, just on the shallow side of playful. It was clear to me that we were having another stand off, but this one apparently wasn't going to involve yelling.

"Oh? And was what you were about to do a part of standard buttling responsibilities?"

"What was I about to do?"

The smile, or what there was of it, fell from her face. "Did you feed me something for dinner that made me stupid?"

I couldn't help it. I bit my bottom lip. Somehow my Mistress just made me guilty of calling her an idiot.

"That wasn't what I–" I stopped myself, because saying _that_ would be too much like letting her win. As with Linda Smith, I had to learn new ways to manipulate Gilda. "All right then, Mistress… What was so wrong with what I was about to do?"

"You mean aside from the obvious?"

"Are you referring to keeping you clean? Is that not one of my responsibilities?"

She pursed her lips. I could tell she was getting irritated with me but her blood was getting up again and oh _Gods_ she smelled so exquisite… It made all the headaches she had given me worth it.

"Is that how your previous employers referred to heavy petting? _Keeping them clean?"_

"No," I said, chuckling quietly, "It's how _I _referred to it."

Incensed, she nodded curtly before saying, "I'll call you back in when it's time to dry my hair."

I stood up and crossed my arms, and I knew my eyes were slightly aglow. "Absolutely not. You are free to finish your bath on your own. But I will remain here until you are ready for me to help you exit the tub." She looked up at me like she'd swallowed vinegar. "I will gladly turn my back until then, if it pleases my Mistress," I teased, turning.

"Oh! For fuck's sake, stop it!" she bellowed, slapping the water's surface with her hand.

I twisted so that I could look down at her. "Yes, Mistress?" I asked, as sweet as you please.

She refused to look at me, and sounded rather bored when she responded. "I'm aware that I can't get out of the damn tub on my own yet, demon." Gilda lifted the sponge from under the water and held it up, indicating I was to continue servicing her.

I stood my ground. Despite how badly I wanted to get my hands back on her, she was going to have to tell me this time.

"So, you want me to… keep you clean, then?"

"Yes."

"Is that an order?"

"_Yes,"_ she said snidely, and dropped the sponge.

Petulant child. Not really my favorite kind.

Calmly, I turned and got back onto my knees. I let the sponge drift in the water for a moment while I wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and splayed the fingers of the other hand across her collarbone, pushing gently to get her to lay back against the tub so that I could… well, keep her clean.

Now that she knew what was, ah… _coming_, so to speak… there was no sense in her not relaxing and enjoying it, correct?

Gilda's hands held on instinctively to my forearm while I settled her into the fragrant water. She looked up at me with a vulnerable expression, and despite the fact that she had just ordered me to touch her again, her face gave me pause.

"Mistress?" I asked, still holding her in place.

"The last time someone went there it was by force," she said.

Ah, yes. I had forgotten that. Or at least, I thought _she_ had. "I would never _hurt_ you, Miss Gilda," I said, truly shocked.

"Until it's time to eat my soul, right?"

I removed my hand from her collarbone and took the sponge again, but I kept my other hand where it was, supporting her neck. "I am your loyal servant, I will do your every bidding, until I fulfill the contract and you give me your soul. And, as I've told you, I will be gentle when that happens."

She bit her lip, thinking a bit before saying, "Alex… You've never given me any reason to believe that you wouldn't be gentle about _everything_ you do to me." She blushed then, and smiled coyly before adding, "A girl just likes to be asked, first. That's all."

I smiled at her. My new Mistress is a very complicated human, but at times she could just be so _simple_.

"Miss Gilda, do you want me to finish cleaning the rest of your body for you?"

"Yes, Alexander. You may proceed," she giggled, doing her best imitation of my voice, which was in fact fairly horrible.

I still cradled her neck, wanting her to feel secure enough to drift off if she felt like it. When I dunked the sponge back under the water's surface, I looked her in the eyes, making sure my intentions were quite clear. Gilda smiled and closed her eyes. Her head dipped to the side as she buried her face in the crook of the arm that held her, sighing sweetly. When she reached under the water and gripped the arm that was holding the sponge, this time she used both of her greedy little hands… and it was _not_ to stop me.

I was finally able to hear her cry out my new name in the one way I will _never_ tire of.

By the time I lifted her out of the tub, I dare say she was cleaner than the day she was born, and blissfully boneless. Was she getting things her own way? Or was I letting her _have_ things her own way? Or… was I letting her _think_ she was her having things her own way? It shames me to admit that I couldn't tell.

I carried her to her bed, where earlier I had laid out some fresh, fluffy white towels, and set about to drying off her body, limb by slackened limb. Gilda remained the drowsy pacifist, gazing up at me as though the sun had decided to rise and set on my very shoulders. I confess that while my hands were busy with my prize, I didn't care to reason which one of us had won the argument.

•

It had been a very rocky road, but Gilda's first day back at school was finally upon us. I made sure the staff, who had all grown to adore her, were there – the fake cook, the fake maid, and the fake gardener, politely lined up at the front door and waiting to see their 'Mistress' off for her day.

Gilda skipped out into the drive, nearly leaping off the brick steps onto the pebbles. I bit my tongue as I noticed she had had destroyed the meticulous manicuring of her hair and make-up – it was _my_ meticulous manicuring, damn it all, and on _my_ day of the week to pick her clothes! She wasn't wearing one stitch of the exceptionally coordinated clothing that I had dressed her in not twenty minutes beforehand. Her hair was now pulled back in a messy ponytail, and there was hastily applied, uneven black eyeliner around her eyes. She wore an old, plain black t-shirt with holes, which should have been in the rag bin three years ago, and it was so threadbare it did absolutely nothing to hide the bounciness of her brassiere-less chest.

_God's teeth._

On her feet were those hideous fire engine red penny loafers, short white socks and – the only decent piece in the collection – a short plaid skirt with a mix of dark pinks and greens, bright reds and white. Were it not for the garish colors, I would imagine it was rescued from a catholic school girl uniform… save that Gilda had hemmed it up well beyond any accepted high school regulations that _I_ was familiar with.

And of course… that _ghastly_ canvas bag.

I had to remind myself that not everything was going to go my way. Not with this prey. 'Punk' she calls this. I clenched my teeth. All right then… Student. Of. The. Arts. _Yes, indeed._

She smiled at them, her fake staff. They smiled back and bowed just for the hell of it, then stood still, as instructed. At least _they_ were following my orders. Gilda skipped up to the limo and came to halt where I stood waiting for her holding the passenger's door open. She grinned.

"Out of all the uniforms you have worn thus far, Alex, I think I like this one the best," she said, looking me up and down appreciatively, with a tendency to linger on the shiny boots. I could tell she was already planning to borrow them. _Not if I have anything to say about it, you traitorous little bitch. _When her eyes finally came back up to my face, she smiled, pointing at the hat. "Very nice." Smiling, I bowed, and then motioned to the empty back seat with my gloved hand. "Very Bauhaus Seme," she quipped as she threw her nasty canvas bag in ahead of her and unceremoniously dumped herself onto the buffed leather seat.

When I finally sat down in the driver's seat, I was about to point out that she was mixing cultural metaphors, but then I realized she was absolutely correct. I'd steadfastly refused to update this particular uniform, and wore a version that was popular in the nineteen thirties – the only change being that it was, of course, _all in black_; the form-fitting chauffer's jacket, complete with two angled vertical rows of shiny silver buttons (my _favorite_ part, I'd personally polished each and every one of the night before), the cap, the gloves, and tasteful black jodphurs that tapered at the knee and were tucked into tall black leather boots. It definitely had a stormtrooper-dominatrix-sex appeal feel to it. All it was missing was a riding crop and someone to play spankies with.

And it had enticed my Mistress into earnestly flirting with me, not just for show, which was _very_ good. Straightening my cap, I smirked and turned the engine over.

Gilda remained quiet during the ride to the conservatory, gazing out of the window at the passing scenery as I drove the seventeen miles to her school. It was nice that we weren't bickering, and chauffer etiquette dictated that the driver was simply not to initiate a conversation with the passenger to begin with. But I wasn't just her chauffer, I was one _hell_ of a chauffer, and I didn't like that lost look on my prey's face. I assumed she was a bit apprehensive after being away from school for so long. She'd catch up in no time, of that I had no doubt, but I was determined to lift her spirits.

"All right then, Mistress. First day back at school!" I announced brightly, pulling up to the curb at the designated drop-off spot for parents and drivers and setting the limo's gear into park. I smiled at her in the rear-view mirror. "Do you have money for lunch?"

Gilda stopped in the middle of tossing the strap of her bag over her head to look at me, and laughed. "Oh my _gawd, _Alexander! Lunch money. _Really?"_ She rolled her eyes. "You wanna make sure I'm wearing clean underwear as well?"

I gaped at her in the rear-view mirror. She was smirking at me, and I will confess to you here and now that she was better at wearing that particular expression than anyone else I have ever known, myself the only exception. Miffed, I narrowed my eyes at her, and she giggled. She opened the door and bounded out before I could regain my composure and do my damn job as her damn butler, which was specifically to get out of the damn limo so that I could open and close my Mistress's damn door for her.

I watched, feeling duped again, as her short plaid skirt bounced away from the vehicle and up the steps of the conservatory. More bouncing. First the tits, now the bum. Bounce, bounce… I tilted my head, mesmerized. And I still don't know if they _were_ clean or not, but those damn panties were the same garish color as her damn shoes.

When I felt the blood in my human body rushing to my privates _yet again_, I realized I might finally be in over my head.

•

"He's bitten off more than he can chew, this time, I fear."

"Well… _you'd_ know all about biting off too much, now wouldn't you?" There was a lilting, nearly indiscernible taunting tone to the second one's voice that the first one didn't at all care for. "In any case, you can see for yourself that the deal I am offering is legitimate. Do you want to intervene now?"

After a pause, the first one replied, "No, no. Not just yet. I truly want to see how far he gets with her."

"He won't do well with this mark."

"He's a very patient demon."

"She's a very _impatient_ human. And she's already expressed her authority over him in ways he didn't expect. It's left him flummoxed. Just think of those poor, unfortunate fish. And did you notice how _aroused_ he became after that last–"

"Now, _really._ Must we discuss that sort of thing? It's uncouth. Can't you just say 'she humiliated him', and leave it at that?"

There was silence for a long time.

"I had no idea you were clinging to such prudish bearings. What a surprise."

"Oh, sod off."

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it!


	7. Chapter 7

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **I know nothing about the stock market, and I don't have the time to be a 'professional' author and learn it for the sake of accuracy in this fanfic. It isn't the focus of this story, and I'm not concerned about the accuracy of what I wrote regarding it.**

• **Flying beta-less. Forgive the typos.**

• **Rated M. **

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 7**

•

The American holiday called _Thanksgiving_ was fast approaching. I was looking forward to it immensely! It looked as though our entire staff and a few of their loved ones would be gathering for this traditional feast at Gilda's manor, as well as Fortunado Fernandez and his Uncle Rafael, and several of Rafael's 'goons'. I was happy to hear there would be _goons_ present. With that many people, I needed some help with the security.

Speaking of more people, Gilda herself had personally invited some conservatory students to stay with us for the break, eight of them to be exact_, _who either had no place to go or could not afford to go home themselves – for an entire week.

_Goodness_.

I would be decorating the manor for this holiday and the next two, Christmas, or Gilda's non-commital 'x-mas' as she put it, and then New Year's. She was not a religious woman, but she adored holiday decorating. She informed me that we would do outdoor lighting, and I was to put wreaths and candles everywhere, and that we would have a decorated tree, of course. I asked her what I was to top the tree with, since she said an angel was out of the question. She answered, and I quote, _'I dunno, Alex, how about a statue of __Dionysus__?'_ Then she laughed like a harlot and walked off.

I adore my new Mistress.

Hopefully by _x-mas_ I could talk her into a party for New Year's Eve as well. I am thinking costume ball. Yes, indeed.

I am gleeful, I digress. Back to the task at hand.

Come this November, I would be making a Thanksgiving feast for twenty-one people! I was also put in charge of entertaining and accommodating the conservatory students who were to stay for the entirety of the break.

What a nice gift she has given me. I could finally arrange a pool party, and have legitimate reasons to clean the basement. The students were sure to use the entertainment facilities wasting away down there night after night, not to mention the upstairs guest rooms would _finally_ get appreciated.

•

Many aspects of our life together fell into place, making for a nice, comfortable routine.

Gilda attends school five days a week. She has a set schedule for the Fall. Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays I pick her up from school at two-thirty, the other two days I wait in the limo at four-fifteen. I am not entirely comfortable with this arrangement, considering she is out of my sight for so many hours, but it appears to be safe. The conservatory takes an old-fashioned approach to the security of their students and is well-guarded as a result.

She will change to another schedule shortly after the holiday break for what will be her last semester. Spring semester will be a bit more relaxed. She will only attend three days a week, and there will be more lab time and fewer classes as she prepares for her three finals. I have no worries that she will come through with flying colors. The conservatory expects her to manage her time effectively during that semester, and _I_ will be supervising her management.

She swims almost every evening, and I insist on watching over her. Yes, I finally did get her some swimwear. While I do not get to enjoy her thrashing about naked in the pool, I still get to change her clothes for this. Throughout the average day, I am now undressing and redressing her four times. Delightful!

I swim with her occasionally, and during those times we get close have a bit of fun. Nothing elaborate, mind you, just touching, or a small kiss on the cheek, sometimes the mouth. Sometimes it is her doing, sometimes it's mine. But she is still running hot and cold on me, and when I do not join her in the pool, my constant vigil seems to get on her nerves. I may have to submit to her wishes – _'Christ! Leave me alone already!'_ – once again. She is a strong swimmer, and I agree that she could probably do with some personal time that is butler-free, not just while she sleeps.

Although… she isn't really free of me then, either.

Our staff continues to report in, and they are growing more and more comfortable with us. It seems that our accountant and tax lawyer, Michael Jacobs and Evelyn Shapiro, have same affliction that many people who live and work in the underworld suffer from – they have no relatives that continue to consider them family. I recently caught the two of them kissing on a couch in the library. Ah… love is in the air.

Rafael reported to me that they had bought out all but two of the primary shareholders in Norman Bellows' firm. They nearly had control over the company. The last two would be bought out either with a healthier offer, or through intimidation. I told Uncle Rafael that if he needed any help with _that_, I was more than willing to lend a hand. After they embezzled the currency from Bellows' rather solvent company and moved it to temporary allocations, they would liquidate those investments and launder the money. Once that was done, we'd be left with about nineteen-point-six million dollars, half of which went to the 'staff'. The rest was Gilda's, to dole out and distribute as she pleased.

And then, Norman Bellows would be forced to file for bankruptcy. The poor dear. Gilda stated that she wanted to be present for that last board meeting so that she could confront her father. I would make this happen.

The manor was already 'paid for', so to speak (that poor real estate agent. I hear he is in a 'home' now), and the creditors from my huge shopping spree have not come busting down our door as of yet. When I mentioned this, Uncle Rafael sped up some of the embezzling, and Michael Jacobs laundered enough cash to pay off the various bills that were hanging over our heads. My Miss Gilda was sitting pretty as far as her finances went, even if the throne she sat upon was, technically, stolen property.

And the best thing of all for me? I am free to buttle to my black heart's content.

•

I have learned that Gilda does not simply have some differences as compared to Ciel; my new Mistress is in fact fantastically dissimilar from my former Master.

They both faced major tragedies and obstacles in life. She has a sharp tongue, just like his, and neither one would suffer a fool gladly. Very intelligent, both of them. She has an annoying stubborn streak that leads her to become obsessed with whatever task is set before her, just as he did.

And, most importantly of course, their souls – both pure, rare, and delicious.

However…

Ciel was loyal, rational, cynical, strong, and uppity.

Gilda, on the other hand, is amusing, flirtatious, friendly, kind, and a bit naïve.

He _embraced_ his need for vengeance.

She seeks vengeance, but doesn't appear to even have much of an interest it.

Ciel was interested in gadgets and machinery and industry.

Gilda hates most technology. She doesn't even know how to drive a car.

He had precious few friends, and he couldn't stand them.

She has precious few friends, and she cherishes them.

He had no idea how to live without money or servants. He saw his wealth as an integral part of his person.

She has no idea how to live with money and servants. She accepts her poverty.

Ciel talked down to his servants (and just about everyone else) and ridiculed them, even as he was, for the day, an exceptional Master to work for.

Gilda treats everyone like they are equals. While this is compassionate and democratic, it is also preposterous; as far as I have seen there isn't a soul like her in existence today.

He was arrogant; he _knew_ he had a rare soul, and he acted like it.

She is self-deprecating; she doesn't think her soul is worth anything at all.

Ciel loved giving me orders. Ones that involved violence or terror while keeping his own hands clean seemed to be quite easy to delve out. He especially enjoyed the ones that made me uncomfortable. (Let's just say its name was 'Pluto'.)

As I mentioned before, Gilda _despises_ giving me orders and wants for my comfort as much as I want for hers. I have no idea how to deal with this.

He had a mean streak and he taunted me. I didn't like it, save that the demon in me found it admirable.

She is playful and likes to tease me, but it's all for fun… or maybe even a bit more than just _fun_ (I'm getting to that). I sincerely enjoy it, although the demon inside me is disturbed by that fact.

Ciel became technically good on the violin, although his performances lacked any sense of passion whatsoever, and he _hated_ playing it. In fact, he took a dispassionate stance on nearly everything in life, with the exceptions of obtaining his revenge, and, well, _me._

Gilda is a genius on the piano and was apparently born to be a composer. She doesn't simply love music; it is her life's blood. She is eager and interested in learning many things, especially things about _me_.

(Oh. Apologies, that last bit was a similarity, in a round-about way.)

He liked to hunt wild animals and then shoot them. He had a fondness for guns.

She has a weakness for nearly all animals and hates violence. She abhors weapons.

Ciel was in desperate need to _not _be touched (although I still tried). He accepted it when in peril, or when he had the need to be carried due to injuries or fatigue, but he would slap my hand way at any other time. I confess that sometimes I did it just to get on his nerves.

Even as she does not realize it herself, Gilda needs to be touched, and frequently, which I try to do. While the physical challenges regarding that seem to be out of our way, she still has some emotional barriers. She allows me to do whatever I try to do, but sometimes it's as though she is not _there_ with me while I am doing it. I confess I've become obsessed myself – with reaching her. I am determined to get under her skin before I take her into mine.

That brings me to their most notable difference. Gilda wants very much to not need anyone; Ciel constantly claimed he didn't. But by the end it was obvious that he needed me as much as I needed him. And as far as Gilda goes, that is a 'want' I plan to break her of.

It was foolish of me to assume that because they are both worthy of a contract, I could and did try to handle Gilda the same way as I handled Ciel. It was even more foolish that I expected her to behave as he did. Like children, every prey is unique.

What can I say? I was mistaken. Chalk it up to all that glee when I marked her!

•

Miss Gilda Louise Franks also has a few quirks. Occasionally, when she returns home from her classes at the conservatory, she will either delay or deny me helping her change into a fresh set of clothes for the evening. Then, when I am occupied with some other task such as making her supper, she will slip upstairs and change on her own.

At first, I just assumed she was being stubborn about letting me undress and dress her – oh, she got over her shyness about being naked and touched soon enough; pretty much after our fun in the pool she didn't seem to _care_ what I saw or what I touched – and if that is her solution, I don't really like _that_, either.

However, there is a different motive behind this behavior.

She likes to tease me.

Now, I don't mean the traditional 'tease', as in sexually. I cannot possibly label her whatever term you humans are using these days for someone who taunts, instills desire, and then refuses. I can't, because the fact of the matter is, we have both been playing with each other in that fashion.

In this, I am talking about her being a _charming_ tease.

When sneaking upstairs to change on her own, Gilda likes to tie her panties, socks or stockings in knots before she puts them in the dirty clothes hamper.

These are not loose knots, either. They are tight, and sometimes intricate. I suppose she is challenging me to get them out without damaging the article, because they would give a mere human fits. But I don't think she is doing it to be spiteful. She truly doesn't have a mean bone in her winsome body. I don't believe that it is to try and agitate me to the point I start yelling at her, either.

She knows that I find the knotted garments while she is away at school. They have become little reminders that while I cannot see her, she's here, in my life, until this contract between us is finished. It's nothing, actually, for me to untie them, but the point is I do have to take the extra few seconds to do it.

I can only imagine that she muses over this while at school: _Are you picking up after me right now? I know you are. Thank you. Here, have a knot, Demon. Have two._

It gives me pause, and I find that I enjoy it. Like I said, it's charming.

She also does something similar to this with the tissue she uses to blot her lip makeup. She usually puts on her make-up herself (not always – I do enjoy applying it, and I occasionally ask if I may) and she does so while I am on the main floor getting her things together for school. When done, she lays the tissue out in the most obvious fashion, flat and smooth, with the corners of it aligned neatly to the edge of the vanity, and smack dab in the middle. Such lovely organization. Such marvelous attention to detail.

When I go to clean her bath and bedroom everyday at exactly nine thirty-four a.m., I now find that the first thing I do is to look for that tissue. Such an adorable, provocative shape. It is, in fact, a printed version of the 'o' her mouth forms when shocked or surprised, and as you already know I have come to love that about her.

Sometimes it's just clear or pink gloss, sometimes it's a shade of red. Occasionally she goes 'goth' or 'punk' and I will find a black one – and as infrequent and non-traditional as those are, they have become my favorites.

Just as with the knots in the stockings, socks and panties, she _wants_ me to find them.

_See? It's like I'm giving you a kiss, Alex, a nice, open-mouthed one! Only not quite, because I'm afraid you're going to have to work a bit harder for the real thing._

Endearing little vixen.

But there is an unspoken rule to this game: she never mentions it, and neither do I. When she comes home, the blot has simply disappeared from her vanity, and her knotted clothing is unknotted, laundered, folded and put away. The next day I find more waiting for me. I have a feeling that were I to ignore or dispose of them, she'd be quite hurt, and were I to bring it up, I'd be declared the loser of this little game we are playing.

In fact, I do not want either of us to bring it up, or I'd be forced to tell her an embarrassing truth. I'm saving the blots, you see, pressing them between wax paper sheets and storing them in a heavy, random tome entitled _The Weapons of Sparta _in the library. The likelihood that she'd find them in such a place is quite low; most of her reading is artistic in nature.

Yes, all right. I am a Demon who loves cats, and whose hobbies include making decadent, complicated sweets and scrap-booking my Mistress's used lipstick blots. Seek litigation against me why don't you.

By far, however, the most interesting quirk of hers is that she occasionally removes her pajamas while sleeping.

Just the tops, mind you. The first time, I only heard her moving about in her room, and went to check on her. I found her shirt on the floor, which was curious, but she was sound asleep. I checked, and sure enough, she didn't have anything on but a pair of 'hello kitty' bikini panties. I covered her back up with the fluffy comforter, and left the room.

_So sweet. _

The next night I lit a candelabrum for old time's sake, and waited patiently at her bedside after she had fallen asleep. It took a few hours, but I wanted to see if I could catch her in the act.

Sure enough, about four hours in, her breathing pattern changed and then it started. She talked a bit, mumbling some nonsense, then flipped onto her back and suddenly sat up in bed. I noted that her skin was glistening a bit and her hair was sticking out at odd angles, so I could only assume that she was too warm… but honestly, I think there is more to this than just that. In any case, she yanked her shirt off and tossed it on the floor, then plopped back down onto her side, snuggling into her pillow. Within seconds she was completely asleep again.

I watched her for three weeks after that night. She did this approximately seventy-two percent of the time. It never even registered with her that I was in the room. Each time, she'd fall back asleep and I'd cover her up. I'd go back to my quarters, delighted with this new behavior. What can I tell you? It's _adorably_ comical. T-shirts are pulled off with ease, but it gets even more comical when she is trying remove a spaghetti-strapped lacy camisole on the nights I get to pick her sleepwear. One of these days I'm going to get a silk 'teddy' for her just to see how she deals with _that_.

The only snag to me watching this, of course, is my obsessive desire to stroke her bare back. There it is, uncovered and right before me; smooth, soft and moist, the subtle bumps of her vertebrae and the fleshy valley above her coccyx, beckoning me – ah… _Lovely_. I have yet to give in. I am sure she'd never realize it, but still. Butler etiquette and all that rot.

My experience with her doing this started shortly after she stopped taking her pain medication at night. When on those, she slept like a rock. But drug-free, she talks in her sleep, and tosses and turns as well. I don't think she's even aware she's doing it. While I enjoy finding her topless in the mornings, I also began to worry that her nighttime activities might eventually lead to sleepwalking. But after a few weeks of watching her closely, there was no evidence of danger. Just the impromptu sleep-stripping.

In the morning I'd open the curtains, letting in the light, and she'd stretch so sweetly. Then suddenly, "Oops, I did it again," she'd say, blushing. I'd lean over and pick up the abandoned top between two gloved fingers, smirking at her, and she'd shrug. She didn't even bother trying to cover herself up. I think she was more embarrassed by how it happened than from being naked.

I am fine with it, either way. For one, she is nude, and two, she's magenta. All over. In any case, the old shirt goes in the hamper and a fresh t-shirt is put on her, as she insists, "just in case I spill my breakfast on my tits."

Mmmm, yes. I have to stop myself from telling her that I'd simply lick her clean afterwards if she wanted to remain shirtless while eating. Given her pale olive-hued skin and the occasional freckle, a seedless blackberry jelly, I think, would serve perfectly as a nipple garnish.

She finally admitted to me that she'd been taking her top off during sleep since she was a child. She, by admission, 'runs hot' and is a 'restless sleeper'. A human needs her sleep, and restless nights would get in the way of her studies.

I'm going to have to work on that with her. Hands-on therapy, that was the best approach. If not, there was always the jelly!

•

Fortunado Fernandez came over once or twice a week. He had his own driver as well, but on those days that he rode with Gilda to the manor after school, he would leave with his Uncle in their own limo at night. He swam with her occasionally, or they played board games and read magazines and ate whatever I brought them.

He was a very well-adjusted young man, especially given the hardships he'd gone through with his parents, and I was glad that my Mistress had such a loyal friend. However, when the boy stated that his steady lover had a straight friend that he wanted to 'fix' Gilda up with on a date, it was all I could do not to strangle him.

I knew he meant no harm, but Gods… Dating – modern courtship, if you could even _call_ it that – it simply made me ill just to think of her being touched, fondled – or worse_,_ _kissed_ by another.

She agreed, which did nothing to improve my mood.

Later, I received more news, some good and some bad.

Uncle Rafael informed me that they had finished buying out the partners in Norman Bellows' business. Her father's share totaled less than forty percent; it seems he had to sell more of it than he originally intended to plump up its value. Rafael and his inside men could now begin manipulating it for bankruptcy.

However, Bellows is a shrewd and highly paranoid person. Rafael was hearing some things from his own people as well as the scabs he had put in place at Bellows' firm. The man was looking a little too closely at his 'new' business partners. He must have had his own snitches, and if he dug hard enough, the paper trail _could_ lead him to Gilda.

Norman Bellows didn't know Gilda Franks from, I hate to say it, Adam, but I doubt who she actually was to him would make one bit of difference as to whether or not he'd harm her if he thought she had cheated him out of his money. I was not pleased to hear of such a loophole, but Rafael assured me that in today's age, there was not much one could do to completely cover one's tracks.

I could tell Rafael wasn't trying to schmooze me, nor was he lying. He had no reason to, and he was just as concerned about Gilda as I was. His goons were keeping a close watch on Bellows' goons, and as long as I stayed alert, Gilda would be fine.

I _hate_ potential setbacks, more so than the actual ones. They made me tense.

•

"So… You wanna check if my underwear is clean, Demon?" Gilda asked, leering at me.

This had become a tradition with her, I'm afraid, after that first day back to school. She always asked, sometimes teasing a bit more than usual. If she knew what sort of imagery went through my mind when she did that, well, she would stop asking. Or perhaps she'd ask me more; I am not really sure.

"_Language_, Miss," I scolded, frowning at her in the mirror. I silently told my crotch to behave itself as well.

She giggled. Perhaps I shouldn't admit this but, as much as she uses it against me, I _like_ her giggle. It's rather addictive, actually.

But then her smile fell, and she grew quiet as a group of girls and boys walked past the front of the limo, entirely too close to the vehicle for my comfort. At the lead was a leggy blonde, who tossed a look towards the front windshield that could have frozen a bonfire.

"Oh, great. _Linda Derricott,_ my favorite person in the whole goddamn world."

I watched as the girl in question stopped in front of the limo, tilted her head, and wore an expression that was reminiscent of a human who had swallowed something nasty. Even with the limo's one-way glass, this young woman seemed bent on expressing her disdain for my Mistress. Or at least, for the limo.

"Goodness gracious, what a foul disposition for a young lady," I said, watching with limited interest as she moved on, with what was apparently her very own posse following her obediently. "Why does she look so disgusted?"

"Why? Jeez, Alexander – _look_ at her."

The young lady was about five feet ten inches tall, had blue eyes and long blonde hair that, despite being nicely coiffed, bore the dull, straw-like pallor of far too many color treatments. She had a very trim figure and was exquisitely dressed, and she walked with an air of authority.

Her appearance may have been high on the scale of some human being's standard for beauty, but _I_ was distinctly unimpressed. I could tell, even from the limo, that her soul was particularly shallow.

"I am looking," I said, narrowing my eyes as I watched the arrogant girl bound up the steps with her gaggle of even less-spectacular cretins in tow. "What about her?"

"She's taller than me, prettier than me, skinnier than me, more sophisticated than me, and her money came from her colonial family, not from her demon butler. She knows I wasn't raised in a _cultured_ environment," Gilda waggled her gifted fingers like they had something sticky on them, "and she has made sure to let me know where I stand with her every damn day since our first class together three years ago."

I frowned. _What a haughty, presumptuous little bitch._ Making my Mistress feel inadequate was _my_ job.

I turned in my seat to face Gilda. "Listen to _me_, Miss. Your money, when I am done with your father, _will_ be family money. Not that that means much of anything. As to the rest, you are a lovely, extremely talented young woman. You have a soft spot for those less fortunate than you, and a fiercely independent sense of style – regardless of how much I may hate some of your choices. You possess a sarcastic wit, and have a sharp tongue that matches it perfectly. Furthermore, this 'Linda' person may be taller and thinner than you, but she is _not_ more attractive."

Gilda's look of surprise at my rant was slowly melting into an amused, pleasant smile.

_Good._

"Her appearance may be very well put together, but it is also _common_. Her eyes have no spark to them, and it is not _her_ hair that begs to be touched."

"Oh my, Demon… aren't you poetic," she said, tucking some of those silky strands behind her ear.

"My dear Mistress, there is _nothing_ poetic about the truth," I replied, smiling at her with a naughty flair. "You complain about your weight as compared to hers, but as far as her body goes, she may be thin but she is also a plank. Your pretty brassieres and adorable panties would slip off of her body from a lack of substance holding them to her, if not from a sudden burst of animated desire to simply be _free_ of her person. Further, she is walking around on chicken legs, but _your_ legs, and I do not need to say this to you because I am sure _you_ realize it as well, are simply fantastic. And I will personally put down a large sum of cold hard cash that boys eventually discover her to be a garden variety tease, or worse, a _dreadful_ lay."

Gasping incredulously, Gilda ducked her head and covered her mouth as she began to snicker.

"Lastly, and _most_ importantly, I can tell you for a fact that her soul has very little merit, even for the most undiscerning of demons. That alone should be all the proof you need that _you_ are her superior."

She looked up at me, smiling. "Alex. You're _such_ an awesome butler."

"I am aware of this, Miss; now, _you_ say something mean about her."

"Um…" she began, looking out her window at the group, now loitering at the top of the stairs. "She's not great at the piano. I happen to know she hates me for that."

"_Wonderful_! You shall find a way to rub that in her smug face today, yes?"

She smiled, but gave a doubtful shrug. "I'll try."

"No, I'll not have any _trying_. You must do this. Now, what else?"

"Well… she's kinda _stupid_. She doesn't even get good grades in the courses that _don't_ have her playing an instrument or composing anything."

I smiled. "There. Don't you feel better now?"

She nodded. "Yeah, actually, I do. Thanks, Alex."

"_There's_ my good Miss." I got out of the limo and opened her door. I offered her my gloved hand to help her exit, as any proper chauffer would do.

"Have a _lovely_ day, Mistress," I said, a tad too loud, and the gaggle looked down at us. "And congratulations on your achievement. I am sure you will make conservatory history!"

"What on _earth_ are you talking about?" she hissed under her breath.

"Just play along," I whispered encouragingly, then raised my voice again. "Do tell Dean Manners that we are all so very proud of our Young Miss Gilda!"

She managed to get that damn smirk off of her face and nodded at me as though she were unconcerned with my praise. _Perfectly executed._ I bowed at her, the very picture of a loyal, happy servant. Glancing up the stairs, I saw that Linda Derricott was rolling her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, but she didn't manage to disguise both the intrigue and the jealousy that was coloring her face.

It's a beautiful moment… that delicious, sweet beginning, when your darling pupil first puts your teachings into practical use.

•

"Well?"

I admit I was a bit impatient with her. After picking Gilda up, she'd barely gotten herself situated in the back seat of the limo when I demanded to know how she'd handled her enemy. I could not help myself; I was thrilled that she actually _had_ an enemy to work with. I know, I know, there is very little about this contract that involves vengeance or killing or violence. By all rights, I knew that going into it, and to be honest, the terms of Gilda's contract were simply not as interesting as plotting a course to make her mine sexually.

_That_ was proving to be very interesting.

That's my tasty Mistress – kind, affectionate, and (hopefully soon) passionate. But to have a teensy bit of vengeance as a side dish…? Oh, as I said, I just couldn't help myself. Gilda was one of the most genuinely sweet humans I had ever contracted with, and I wanted to see if she'd actually do something along the lines of 'paybacks'.

"Well _what?"_ she said around a grin, then screwed off the cap to a bottle of water and took a long gulp.

"Now, now, don't be coy, Mistress. Did you put Miss Derricott in her place?"

She twisted her lips trying not to smile, and was still looking down. She looked out the window, up the stairs, and suddenly smirked, saying, "What do you think, Demon?"

I turned in my seat to look as well, and there was the skinny blonde in question, coming down the stairs wearing a face that was more sour, if that was even possible, as compared to when I first saw her that morning. She stomped past the limo, again too close for comfort, and halted directly in front of the hood ornament. She focused her gaze on the back seat – bear in mind that she could only assume Gilda was in it, because all of the limo's windows were made of bullet-proof, one-way glass. Linda Derricott raised her middle finger in a very impolite salute to my Mistress.

"Oh, dear," I said.

"What a jackass," Gilda snickered.

As Linda walked off I noticed something. "Has the stuck-up shepherd lost half her flock?"

"Yup," Gilda said matter-of factly, and smiled smugly. "There was a piano-off in the lab today. I don't usually go in for that, it's an underclassmen thing. But that bitch always joins in – as a professional musician, she would suck, but she's still better than most of the freshmen, so she competes just to try and make them worship her. I tell you Alex, this girl acts like she is still in high school."

"You played, then? Against her?"

"Yup," she said again, grinning broadly.

"I am very happy for you, Mistress. I am proud. You did well." I pulled out of the drive and we began our journey home.

"Ah," she shrugged, "It wasn't much. And I'm sure she'll find a way to get back at me."

"But she has lost half her group. How did that happen, by the way?"

"Same as it always does with people who think the way she does. Sooner or later the stronger pack members turn on the alpha. Once they saw what a fake she was, the ones that didn't need her simply left."

"And _you_ are their alpha now, I take it?"

"Oh, shit no! I have no interest in that. The trick is to not _need_ an alpha."

I smiled at Gilda in the rear-view mirror. That was a lesson most humans didn't learn until they were nearing old age. Yet she said it as if it had always been true for her.

After taking another sip of water, she looked out the window at the passing trees. I don't think she meant for me to hear her, but of course I did when she muttered to herself, "The trick is to not need _anybody_."

And… there went my happiness.

•

'_The trick is to not need __**anybody**__.'_

Her defense mechanisms are going to make this contract much more difficult.

For one thing, they are extremely well-honed. She was neglected as a child and learned to take care of herself, that much is obvious, but at the same time she has a passionate streak that she keeps strictly guarded. Learning to live with both these things, simultaneously, must have been difficult. I believe this is what hardened her heart to a degree.

But I cannot pretend that I am some Don Quixote romantic savior. I think you know me better than that by now. I _do_ believe in chivalry, and the proper treatment of the softer sex, but I have no plans to become Gilda's 'boyfriend'. I want to be her paramour, if only to strengthen the bond between us – to make her want me, need me and perhaps adore me, if only just a little.

I know how vibrant Gilda can be. I got a sense of just how deep her feelings run when we were together in the pool, or while listening to her play in the Salon… and that night in the bathtub. Nothing less than her fullest potential would do for me now.

Think of confident, vengeful, _strong_ Ciel Phantomhive, who _had_ tasted his revenge… and then Claude Faustus made him promptly forget it. His flavor had paled after that. Do not misconstrue me; it wasn't nearly enough to consider him less than worthy. A pure soul is a pure soul, and they are worth the effort of a contract even as they are also bored to tears. But the higher the emotions run, the more vibrant the flavor. The change in him was enough that my palette noticed the difference, and like an addict, I had to have the greater euphoria… and I ruined everything because of that.

I refuse to fail with Gilda. Not again.

But I'll never be able to use sex and affection to get what I want unless I start divesting her of her armor, and that could prove to be dangerous. Unwrap too much of it, and she'll fall in love with me. Yes, _in love_ she'd taste amazing. But Gilda is a smart girl; she'll figure it out that I cannot return those feelings… and then her heart would break.

If I broke her heart… she'd be equally potent.

But we are not talking about a little crack here. I'd have to follow through and break her completely for the flavor to be robust. Devastate her, cruelly even, for her misery to be complete. I would do it if came down to that. Please don't think I won't – I'm famished, remember? After eating her soul, she'd provide exquisite sustenance while she flared like a wretched, unhappy torch the entire time, until she was no more.

The problem is… I don't want to have to get her _that_ way.

You heard me. I don't want that, not even a little bit.

I've wondered before if I was going soft. And you are probably thinking that right now. _Fuck you._ You try living with an unhappy soul inside of you. That _is_ the very thing that makes us more vicious than we need to be.

Apologies for the language, but you are not a Demon. Don't pretend that you know what it feels like.

In the end, I am left with the more complicated solution of _affection_. How far do I go? Can I make her _need_ me without falling in love with me? Can I make her sustain that feeling if I can't avoid it?

I _would_ fulfill the technical aspects of our contract. She would see her father penniless; probably much sooner than anticipated if this 'staff' of ours are as good as suspected. By next Spring, she would complete her studies and then our contract will be fulfilled, with the exception of carrying out her last will and testament, and how hard can that be?

Do not misconstrue me. I'd love to take her, right this second even – pull off to the side of the road, climb into the back seat, remove her clothing and tease her, say sweet things to encourage her, stroke her… then thrust into her over and over with my human cock until she is coming her head off and shouting my name, fluid spills on the leather seats be damned.

I _like_ sex. It feels good, even when I am not joining the human in orgasm. But that isn't going to work with Gilda. She would eventually find that behavior cheap and shallow, or she would see through my plans and become angry, or, worst of all, she'd fall. _Fast_. Too fast for me to cover up the fact that I'm not falling right along with her.

This is the path I have chosen to walk with this prey, so all I can do is be patient. I must mind my temper and quell my lust, both of which are getting more difficult for me with each day that passes. I will take the chance that if I allow Gilda to fall in love with me, _slowly, _my inability to return those feelings will not hurt her – _diminish_ her – before I could consume her precious soul.

Otherwise… it will have to be 'heartbreak hotel' for Gilda.

I can do this. It's just a matter of timing.

•

Date night had arrived. I was radiating anger. I was having enough trouble sticking to my grand plan; I didn't need Gilda messing up more of our time together with things like _other men_ and _dates_ and _romance._

To make matters worse, none other than Grell Sutcliff showed up to help my Mistress get ready for her night out. They picked out various outfits and primped and fawned and manicured and flat-ironed to their heart's content. I stayed the hell out of that.

Fortunado arrived with both his date and Gilda's, and they came in for introductions all around. Fortune's boyfriend was a nice enough lad, extremely handsome but a bit put off by Fortune's attachment to Gilda. He was even more put off by Grell Sutcliff's sudden and uninvited interest in his own person.

Gilda's date, Ben Tomlinson, however, was another matter.

He had that large, slow, sports-fan undeclared-major look to him, and I caught him sizing up Gilda's body far more often than he actually looked at her face. She had such a _lovely_ face, too – one I did not want _him _touching. I did my fair share of intimidating the cretin until Gilda put her foot down and announced they were leaving.

As they made their way down the drive towards the front gate, I discovered, to my horror, that I had an erection. Yes, anger can make me that excited. It wasn't helping my control any that my prey was involved, either. Prey that _I _wanted to have my way with… yet there she went, off on a romantic encounter with this… this _galoot_ who was probably a 'C minus' student from state college.

Grell felt my agitation, no doubt, and he looked me up and down. But before I could deflate my obvious problem, he noticed it, and Sutcliff suddenly had more material to work with when it came to taunting me.

"Good Lord, Bassie! Is that a meat cleaver in your pocket or are you happy to see me?"

Gods, that voice. One hundred years later, and it still irritated the piss out of me.

"Do stop that, Reaper," I growled, watching the vehicle as it reached the gate on the security screen. I opened it after a few beats, just so that all of them in the car realized, _one more time,_ that I was not happy with the situation.

"Sebas-chan," Grell sing-songed to me, far too close to my ear, "I do believe that you are jealous of that dim young man." As he stood behind me, the Reaper tossed his arms over my shoulders and squeezed me in an impromptu hug. "Poor, sweet Bassie… having to watch his heart's delight run off with some strange human on a _date,_ where he'll do who-knows-what to our lovely Gillykins."

I tossed him off, muttering something about his delusions regarding me, and stomped into the kitchen. He followed me, of course. Damn Reaper.

"You can't deny it! Your trousers are bulging with _loooove_," he said, dragging out the word like it was a piece of rotten fruit sliding down a wall after being thrown against it. _Hard_.

Yes, that was a metaphor.

"Sutcliff…" I sighed angrily, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I pretended like I was interested in going through a pile of junk mail that happened to be on the kitchen table. "If you have nothing better to do, I'd prefer it if you left. And never came back, as well."

"Oh but look at you!" he said, coming up behind me and dragging a clawed hand down the front of my shirt. "You're as _hard_ as a _rock_, my love!" When he got too close to said rock-hard parts, I whacked his hand away with enough force to have separated it from his wrist. But, he has inhuman Reaper reflexes, and he was too damn quick.

He spun around dramatically, doing that stupid _thing_ with his middle fingers. "A rock this Reaper would _love_ to climb!"

Enough was enough. I stood up. "Oh – _all right_, already! Anything to make you _go away," _I growled through clenched teeth. I pulled the chair out and turned it to face him, then sat back down. I threw one arm over the back of the chair in a casual way, and slid the palm of my other hand down the side of my thigh. Then I parted my legs for him.

I was now sitting in a manner that I have always considered to be vulgar for a gentleman. Legs wide open like a common whore – I can't tell you how many times I berated Ciel for sitting like that – so slovenly. Coarse.

_Rude._

And now here I was, doing just that. Oh, well.

I didn't unbelt, unbutton, or unzip a goddamn thing. If he wanted to help me out so badly, I was going to make him do _all_ the work.

His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and Grell moved toward me with the expression of the stupefied. His lower lip quivered and his hands stretched out slowly, but I grabbed him by his scrawny neck before he could make contact. I hissed through my fangs, "Just watch those damn razor blades you call _teeth_, Reaper."

I thought he might start crying from sheer happiness as he lowered himself, reverently in fact, to his knees, positioning himself neatly between mine.

•

"Vile. _Disgusting_," said the second one.

The first one could not disguise the fact that the entire situation was very humorous. "What's disgusting? That he's engaging in sexual behavior? Or is it because it's oral? Or – that it's homosexual, maybe?" The second one curled his lip. "What? _You_ complained about me being a prude."

"Please. I absolutely do not give a damn what orientation _anyone_ is, or what positions they favor. I am disgusted… by _him."_

A very loud, rude snicker was heard from the first one. The second one frowned, seeking clarification.

"_Which one?"_

The first one's guffaws, and they truly could be called that, were heard echoing throughout the massive halls that surrounded them. Many a curious head turned to look, and became even more curious when they only saw one person standing near the noise, and that one was _not_ known to have a sense of humor.

The second one sighed wearily, and walked off.

•

I had to admit that allowing Sutcliff to give me a 'blow job' had been a good idea. He wasn't bad at all, actually. A little quick perhaps, but, and I hate to say this, _deadly efficient. _I kicked him out immediately after I came off, though, before he could start begging for a damn cuddle.

I wasn't _really_ in a better mood by the time Gilda arrived home – safe and sound, and _earlier_ than expected, I will add. But at least the urge to rip someone's head off had abated, all thanks to the Red Reaper's interesting, eager mouth. I have to remember that he could be handy to have around for such moments.

When Gilda returned that night after her date, she had a few things to say about Mr. Ben Tomlinson, and none of them were favorable.

"Turns out he knows Linda, the Evil Witch of the East, and I think he may have been setting something up to help her screw with me at school, but I can't be sure. Either way I wasn't gonna let him touch me after that first kiss. He was awful." She sighed and headed up the stairs, with me in close tow. I kept trying to smell her as discreetly as possible, concerned that the boy went further than that without her permission, and she wasn't telling me the whole truth to try and prevent me from running off to eviscerate him.

I could smell him on her, but only a small amount. Unfortunately, hiding things from me wasn't going to help any. I already wanted to rip his throat out just for being alive.

"Where's Grell? Did she leave already?"

_Yes. I came, and then 'she' left._

"He has left for the evening, Miss. He said to tell you goodnight and pleasant dreams." Sutcliff _had_ said that, actually, but for Gilda's sake I left it out that my fluid was dripping down his chin at the time.

"Oh, she's such a sweetie," she gushed, and I felt the bile rising again. Still, I'd rather she'd gone on a date with Sutcliff than this jerk Ben Tomlinson. "Anyway, _Ben_ will probably tell Linda that he fucked me, then she'll tell everyone at school that I'm a cheap whore or something."

"Miss… You," I started, pausing at the stop of the stairs. She stopped and looked at me. "Please tell me that you truly _did not_ have intercourse with him. You are not just saying that for _my_ benefit, are you?"

Gilda sighed, and turned into her bedroom.

"That's a fair question, Alex. I've told you before that I'm kinda promiscuous. But the answer is no, I didn't have sex with him. He was a terrible kisser and wouldn't stop talking about nascar. Talk about a one-eighty..."

I didn't know what nas-car was, and I didn't care. I stuck to the problem at hand. Following her into her bedroom, I inquired, "One-eighty, Miss?"

"You know," she said, hopping on her bed and tossing her purse on the floor. "When someone's personality turns on a dime from who you though they were, and goes the opposite way. A _bad_ way, usually. Even Fortune noticed it. He felt awful for setting me up with him."

"I am certain Mr. Fernandez did not mean for this to happen."

I removed one shoe and its sock, gently caressing the skin of her foot as I exposed it. Freeing the feet did very nice things to the prey's scent, even as they barely notice it themselves. I continued on to her other foot, reveling in the quiet sigh she released as I stroked that foot as well. I stayed where I was, kneeling between her strong legs, and massaged her feet.

"Fortune? Oh, no way, he didn't have-_ohhhhhh…_" she sighed when I pushed my thumbs into an arch, and I looked up just as her eyes closed and her head fell back. "Alex… That feels _so_ good."

Long, wavy hair dangled behind her back, and her neck muscles convulsed as she swallowed hard and let out another sigh. I bravely fought the urge to take those perfectly sweet little toes into my mouth and suck them clean. Instead, I moved on to her top.

"Mistress... Did you _want_ to have relations with him?" I asked, lifting the emerald green jumper, one of the pieces she kept from my shopping spree, over her head.

"No.. I mean... well, _yes_," she said from within the cocoon of the jumper. "What I _mean_ is, it's been awhile, and you've taken my _toy_ away from me," her head popped out and she paused to smirk at me. I frowned back. "So, yeah, I was looking forward to some sex. But after about fifteen minutes in his presence, I knew it wasn't gonna happen with _him_."

I removed her bra, which was always an adventure, and visually checked her breasts for marks in case the boy had manhandled her. Luckily for him I found nothing suspicious.

My female prey has always had it in common that, when removing their clothing, freeing up the breasts was just as welcome a relief as freeing up the feet. Given the torture-inducing construction of the modern brassiere, I am sure Gilda felt as much. But I did not touch her breasts. Not this time. Not that I didn't want to; I did. But it would have been too much, too soon. I had to be diligent to my plan.

Gilda stood up to let me unfasten her jeans, and I contemplated what she was telling me as I peeled them down her thighs. "It's sad that I can tell so quickly anymore… but I really hate stupid nascar and I _really_ like kissing, so that kind of sealed his fate."

She _liked_ _kissing?_ I knew she was good at it, but I didn't know she liked it so much.

Oh my, how delightful for me!

She sat back down on the bed and I finished pulling the atrocious jeans from her body. I flung them across the room without taking my eyes off of her, and I heard them land squarely in the dirty clothes hamper.

I was still kneeling on the floor at this point, situated between her legs as they dangled off the bed. I looked up at her, clad only in her panties, with my head just the slightest bit lower than hers. Without another word, I took her face in the palms of my hands and kissed her.

I made sure this was not like any of the other kisses we'd shared before.

That _thing_ that'd happened between us in the salon was heated, yes; but _both_ of us had had ulterior motives, which had ruined the moment. Our quick pecks in the pool? Completely different. The kiss in the hospital was simply to assure her that I was there for her, as I promised, and to reassure myself that she was not actually at death's door under all that medication. And the bathtub…

Well, that hadn't been kissing at all, now, had it? Whatever it was, it hadn't happened since, either.

_More's the pity._

She froze, at first, as I expected her to. But then she placed her hands on my wrists while I held her face, and returned the kiss. I could taste the young man on her, but it was faint at the most. She'd told the truth, she had kissed him only briefly. But still, I _could_ taste him. It sent my instincts reeling and I had to fight another urge to lick and suck, using our kiss as an excuse to clean all traces of him from her.

But this wasn't about me defending my claim; I had to make this about Gilda's needs.

A soft pop was all either of us heard when our lips finally parted. I looked up at her, smiling sweetly, and she licked her lips. "Why did you do that?" she finally whispered.

"My mistress needed one hell of a kiss. Of this, I am _more_ than capable."

Gilda's pretty face turned that color again. I felt positively triumphant.

"You've already bathed twice today, and you are tired. Shall we just tuck you in as is, then?"

"Yes. Yes, that will be fine," she sighed, a dreamy look on her face.

After I got her under the covers, Gilda's arms shot out and grabbed the black cotton of my shirtsleeves. She did not look very sure of herself as she slid her hands up my sleeves to drape her arms around my shoulders. When she used my back to pull herself up closer to my face, she asked in a tiny, nervous voice, "Just one more. Please?"

"Miss does not say _please_ to the help," I whispered, scolding her ever-so-slightly, and she bit her lip in response. "And you may have as many as you like." As I cheerfully obliged her, one of her hands crept into my hair to clutch it slightly, as she pulled me down with her and opened up her mouth for me.

She can be such a _good_ little girl when she wants to.

Traces of the boy were still there, but it was much easier to ignore when I felt her pulling me closer like that. I wrapped one hand around the base of Gilda's neck, my intent only to support her, and I placed the other on the pillow next to her head. I did not touch her further than that or try to steer the situation in any other fashion, because honestly, I wanted to see what _she_ was going to do.

Her touch was soft while she gently devoured my mouth. We went on like that for several minutes, it was not frantic nor did it grow so; just sweet, erotic kisses, deep and warm and lush. _So very pleasant. _As I allowed Gilda as much in the way of this as she wanted, I discovered there was good reason as to why she liked kissing so much. Whether from experience or her own natural tendencies, she wasn't just good at it, she was _marvelous_ at it! In fact, she was so adept I could feel my own desires beginning to clamor. You are probably thinking otherwise, but you should know that I controlled my body's reaction to hers very nicely, thank you. Or thank the damn Reaper for topping me off beforehand, whichever you prefer.

However, _reluctantly_, I didn't allow things to go any further than that. I had to hang on to some sort of a back up plan, you see. Gratefully, what I'd given her seemed to soothe the fit of pique her regrettable evening out had left her in. I wasn't thrilled that she'd gone on a date to begin with, but I didn't like seeing her upset about it either.

Finally she released me, smiling up at me in the soft light of her room. I tucked her back in, covering up her nearly-naked body with the comforter. Bidding her goodnight, I switched off her bedside lamp and left her room.

I wanted, very much, to play with her more than that, but…

•

I should tell you at this time that while Gilda was growing more and more comfortable with my familiarity, she had the good sense to keep it private. In fact, we were both behaving one way in public, or when the staff or her friends came calling, and quite differently when alone together.

Due to our contract, it was a given that we keep certain things private between us. But because of our budding relationship, we now had more to hide. I was her loyal butler, in every sense of the word, to the rest of the world. But at home, alone… I made it clear that I was her butler, _and_ a demon, and I would tend to her every need.

_All_ of them.

No, not just sex. Not just yet. She accepted my help and care when I was sympathetic to her aches and pains, and was much better at leaving the 'heavy lifting' to me, so to speak.

Left to ourselves, brief, intimate contact became common – such as brushing her face with my fingertips, pushing her wayward locks back behind her ear, or guiding her from one room to another with my hand at the small of her back. She touched me as well, much to my surprise. It was rare if she _didn't_ thank me for doing things for her, which annoyed me a bit, but her thanks were almost always accompanied by a hug, which did quite the opposite of annoy me.

Such moments are very different from when I bathe or dress her. That was expected, and treated as part of my job before we even got started, even if it was difficult for her. These things are different. They are subtle, and I am learning that this makes them far more powerful. It is almost as though we are engaging in a courtship.

One day she insisted I remove my gloves. I refused, so she clenched her teeth and ordered me to do it, and added that I was to keep them off whenever we were alone in the manor. I am still not sure about that one. But I will admit that the electric feel of her skin under my bare hands, however brief, has become an incredible expectation.

Gilda was also going places with me that no prey had ever gone before. She had questions about my past. Not just my recent past, either. She wanted to know where I _came_ from. I did my best to dodge the questions or gave vague, non-fictional answers.

She consulted me with her problems, asked for suggestions, and often took my advice, which was so completely unlike Ciel.

I should have expected it, given that she could still be made to blush, so she probably considered our unvarnished relationship to be private, like a tantalizing secret. I continue to remind myself that she had been so very independent before I came along; a person in her circumstances does not usually share the details of their life all that easily. That she shared her past and her concerns about the present with me probably made things like simply touching her hand all the more intense for her.

•

The morning after our kisses, I woke her as I normally do. We shared a few more smiles than the usual, but that was about it. I asked her what she was planning to do if her mortal enemy, Linda Derricott, was going to use her disastrous date as fodder to slander her reputation. She said she didn't have a clue.

"May I make a suggestion, Miss?"

"Please," she said, then took a bite of her rye toast.

I sat on the side of the bed next to her. "Allow the rumors to start. When someone gets curious enough to ask you about it, and someone _will,_ don't deny it."

She swallowed hard. "Don't? Really?"

"Don't. Make them believe that you did, indeed, have sex with Mr. Tomlinson."

"Uh. Okay. Then what?"

"Tell them his performance was mediocre at best, but was made even worse by the fact that all he could do was compare you to Miss Derricott. Say that he eventually started to cry, because you were so much more satisfying than she is, and he was miserable at the thought of going back to her."

She gaped at me. "Oh, Alex. That's really _mean,"_ she said. "Should I really go that far?"

"Miss Derricott would go that far, wouldn't she?"

She paused, then said, "Yeah. Yeah, she sure would."

"Then beat her to the punch. Remain confident in your story, and tell it with your natural charm, and no one will doubt you speak the truth. Derricott will become nervous and panic, and will try to trump you, but she will have no more cards to play with."

When I dropped her off that morning, I had no idea if she was going to take my suggestions. But when I picked her up that afternoon, she was all smiles as she bounded down the stairs and into the limo. Her friend Fortune was with her; he was coming home with us.

From the driver's seat, I questioned how her day went, not being too specific since we were not alone.

"Wait for it, Alex," she said, grinning.

Linda Derricott eventually made her way past our limo. She kept a respectable distance from the front of it, finally, and she had _no_ disciples in tow. She clutched at the strap of her bag relentlessly, and her face was twisted with unrighteous anger, and she did no more than glance at the vehicle we were sitting in as she passed us and got into the back seat of her own transportation, slamming the door.

I smiled. Gilda and Fortune Fernandez began laughing.

"Thank you, Michaelis. Great advice, as usual," Gilda said, holding her side.

"Wait – you mean to tell me that butler–" Fortunado Fernandez paused, scooted forward, and perched his forearms on the back of the front seat so that he could speak to me directly. "That was _your_ idea?" He sounded positively scandalized, even as he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Young man, if the Franks family butler cannot do a simple little thing like help his Mistress impede a school bully, what sort of a butler would I be?"

Gilda was laughing so heartily there were tears coming from her eyes, and her friend soon joined her. As I pulled out of the conservatory drive, I couldn't help but feel a tremendous swell of satisfaction. Gilda would never have the same sense of bitter vengeance that Ciel had; she simply wasn't that person.

However, I honestly didn't think she had in her to play dirty, not even with _my_ seductive encouragement. As such I was enormously pleased with her.

I caught her eyes in the rear-view mirror as we drove, and gave her a smile that reflected exactly what I was feeling: a lot of pride and a healthy dose of lust. I knew she'd understood my intent when I saw her cheeks fill with magenta.

"You okay, Gillie?" her friend asked her, still laughing. "You look flushed."

"It's just all the laughing," she said to him, then smiled back at me in the mirror. When I narrowed my eyes at her playfully, she bit her lip and shyly cast her eyes downwards.

"Yeah. I'm okay, Fortune. I'm great."

Indeed.

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it!


	8. Chapter 8

• **Yana Toboso and Square Enix owns these toys. No infringement intended. I spent money to learn about them, I earn no money in borrowing them.**

• **Flying beta-less. Forgive the typos.**

• **Rated M. **

•

**Gilded**

**Chapter 8**

•

Thanksgiving came and went, and it had been busy as… Well. You know.

The food had been glorious! I was in my prime, cooking and polishing and arranging and cleaning and tending. Oh, the desserts I made! And me with an entire houseful of grateful, hungry people. What _luxury_.

I got to arrange a pool party, finally. Sutcliff showed up for it and he was quite the entertainer. The students loved it; in fact, they loved the entire week, all thanks to my Mistress giving me the freedom to handle things as I wished. There was only one bizarre incident during the entire break, with a student who did not end up on the short list of her friends that I was all right with.

His name was David Taylor, and as Gilda relayed, she "thought he was okay. Guess not. He was one of Linda's ex-gaggle, he seemed really sincere when he asked if he could come over for the break."

"Pardon me?"

"You know, he was all humble and so pathetic with not being able to go home, he's from Canada and that's like a million miles away–"

"No, I mean the–" I sighed. Gilda tore off on tangents so thoroughly she now had meinterrupting myself. "Mistress, really. The boy practically _invited_ himself. You need to inform me about suspicious behavior like that. Just think of what he _might_ actually have been up to."

He'd behaved oddly before the actual day of the feast, staring at Gilda and occasionally myself, wandering into rooms he had no business being in. So what he 'might' have been up to was doing something to harm my Young Miss. During the tree-trimming party, I'd found him upstairs alone, in my private rooms, looking for something on my desk. When caught, he claimed he was looking for the library and thought that my room was it, but of course he smelled of lies. I informed him, politely, that he would be leaving that night. He did not put up a fight.

I'd have to keep an eye out for that one.

Uncle Rafael and the staff had attended the feast, as planned, along with a few wayward members of the Fernandez clan. They were all either salt of the earth, friendly types like Rafael himself, or dignified and pleasant, such as Fortunado.

There was a brief report after the meal, in the kitchen away from the eyes and ears of the relatives and students who busied themselves with the tree-trimming. Our staff was bleeding Norman Bellows' firm dry. He was nearing bankruptcy, and we already had a lot of cash that needed laundering. Michael and Evelyn, who were growing quite close, already had half of it moved into other shelters.

"She can hand him his copies of the Chapter Seven papers herself. It'll ne a nice Christmas present for Gillie!" Rafael laughed, just as my Mistress entered the kitchen.

"What're you getting me for X-mas Uncle Rafe?" she asked, all sly and coy.

"It's _Christ_mas, you little heathen, and I'll get you anything ya want."

She giggled.

Everyone rejoined the tree-trimming party. Later on I saw Gilda taking Michael Jacobs aside, and telling him something. Their talk wasn't intense, but she meant for it to be private. They were across a room full of laughing, talking, singing people, and this prevented me from listening in on the conversation. Her back was to me, so I could not even read her lips. Jacobs himself never said a word, he just nodded now and then, and I am fairly sure she instructed him to not talk. She'd obviously worked it out so that when it happened, it was kept from me.

Later that evening, when the students were in their guest rooms and the rest of the dinner guests had left for the night, we stole a moment in Gilda's room to comb out her hair before bed. It had been difficult finding the time to stick to our routine with so many people in the house, so she had been bathing and dressing on her own. This was agitating me, and she knew it, so when the moment was right, I snuck in to play with her hair at night, at least. I was _not_ giving up her evening hair combing. I enjoyed it far too much.

Sitting in her vanity chair, she leaned back suddenly and looked up at me as I stood behind her. It was very fetching behavior, and I leaned over thinking she was requesting an upside-down kiss. _Yummy. _But before I could place my lips to hers, she blurted out, "Alex, I order you to stay out of the piano bench. Do not find a way to look at its contents, do not 'accidentally' make it fall over, do not get someone else to open it for you. Stay _out_ of it. Is that clear?"

I stopped. What was this, now? An _order_ even! First her cell phone messages are being kept from me, now this. It had to have something to do with the private conversation she'd had with Mr. Jacobs earlier that day.

"Yes, Miss," I said, cradling her head in my hands. "May I ask why?"

"Nope," she said, smiling up at me. "You'll just do this."

"Yes, Miss."

"Thank you," she said, and _yes_ I still hated that, but then she pulled me down by a shirtsleeve with a wicked grin and gave me that upside-down kiss. _"More," _she demanded, rising out of her chair and closing the distance between us. I smirked at her, then tossed the hairbrush onto the Oriental rug and picked her up instead.

I did not understand her sudden urge to be naughty, but I wasn't going to deny her – not completely, anyway. I carried her to the bed, squeezing her adorable backside in my large hands, and cheerfully kissing her eager mouth the entire way. She was aroused, more so than she had ever been with me before. Those fabulous legs writhed around my midsection, and as I placed her on her bed, we shared a quiet laugh while I struggled to untangle them.

When I tucked her in she tried to pull me down with her. I reminded her that the guest rooms were full of students, and the last time I brought her to a climax (which had been in the bathtub, all the way back in October), she had no reason to be quiet about it.

Thankfully, she only protested a little. I rewarded her with more kisses to help mollify her cravings, and she took them like a greedy child. My hand wandered a bit further than I intended, and I found myself caressing a breast through the thin cotton of her pajama top. When the nipple came to a point, she moaned into my mouth, and something other than my brain told me to continue. But I remembered my plan, and I pulled back, very slowly.

Gilda smiled up at me. "I like the way you tuck me in, Alex."

My word… such a significant disclosure in one softly whispered sentence. Seems I had peeled back a little bit more of her armor.

She'd acknowledged her attraction. She _desired_ me. She was feeling just the right amount of affection. But she wasn't falling – not just yet.

_We're right on schedule._

Gilda appeared to be satisfied, thank the heavens, so I brushed the side of her cheek and wished her pleasant dreams (with _me_ in them, hopefully), and left her for the night.

The household with all its guests had retired, so I went down to the kitchen and put an icepack on my crotch. I had loads of extra work to do yet, and I didn't want to put up with waiting for the erection to die down on its own. It was such a bother sometimes, holding back as much as I had been.

Briefly, I wondered what Grell Sutcliff was up to. I could have used his fervent mouth for about ten minutes… but if I called him now he'd probably expect something in return this time. I'd tell him to sod off, and then he'd cause a ruckus and would wake up the entire house, and _then_ I'd have a real mess on my hands. In addition, I still hadn't figured out if Gilda was the jealous type. My gut said _no_, but…

This wasn't an easy task. I wanted Gilda just as much as she wanted me. When her soft moan had reached my ear, I had to suppress the urge to remove her pajamas and suckle those dark pink nipples, as well as any other part that struck my fancy. I wanted to hear her ask for _more,_ again and again. I wanted to be _inside _her.

She really was a very alluring human, but unfortunately I had to watch myself. The timing had not been good, and I am not referring to just the presence of houseguests. Spring was a long way off, and I had to pace myself. Whether or not we'd resume what we started after the guests cleared out that weekend, I had no idea… but as Grell Sutcliff would say, there had been _tongue_ involved, so I had to concentrate and keep my own desires in check.

By Friday evening, nearly all of the decorations were up. Just to satisfy your curiosity, I did manage to find a statue of Dionysus for my Mistress. I affixed it to the top of the gigantic tree that I'd cut down for her. It was a nude of the Greek god, with grape vines, the proverbial jug, and a few clinging, inebriated harlots. It screamed of drunken ecstasy and she absolutely loved it.

There was only the outdoor lighting left. I was determined to get it done before the first major snowfall, but Gilda asked that I wait to do that until the Saturday before she returned to school. The students were to return that afternoon, and she wanted us to do the lights together, at night, _alone_. She was very specific.

She can be so flirtatious and sweet sometimes. I could just kiss her all over. And I _will_, someday soon.

That Saturday, between myself and Rafael's driver, we drove the seven remaining students back to their dorms in two limos. When Gilda and I returned that afternoon, we were finally alone in the manor for the first time since the evening of the Friday before, almost eight days.

I insisted on a hot bath, first thing, just to get reacquainted with our routine. No, we didn't pick up where we left off and get all inflamed with each other. But it was very, very pleasant – for both of us. She had missed the attention as much as I had missed giving it.

I made Pot Roast for her supper, of course, and then we went out to do the lights afterwards. She wanted to help with the trees, so I decorated the house in a flash, and I was delighted to see her 'o' face again. She stood there gaping at my speed, and when I was done she smiled at me. When the switch was thrown, little white dots covered the outside of the manor, front to back, top to bottom, in a _very_ tasteful display I will add. She laughed and applauded.

We moved on to her precious Japanese maples. I allowed her to do four of the smaller ones with my help, which was very nice for me as I had to pick her up and balance her adorable backside on my shoulder. I held her steady, my hands wrapped tight around those strong thighs, and I tried not to think about all the other reasons I had for grasping her legs in such a manner.

The sun was nearly down and it was getting very cold, so I suggested she allow me to finish.

"Yeah, you're right. I really am enjoying this, I mean I've never been able to do it before – except at Fortune's house. Never at my _own_. But my hands are freezing. Go ahead."

I finished again, lightening-fast, and she stood in the middle of the lane as I turned the power on.

"Oh jeez! They're _beautiful!"_

Electricity was annoying in its own way – I am very old-fashioned. But it had its perks, as well. These lights had colors, and they _twinkled_. I loved the way they reflected in Gilda's bright, happy eyes.

When I carried her inside, it was already dark out so I took her directly up to her room. Her hands were indeed cold, as well as her poor feet, so I lit a fire in her bedroom hearth and brought her some perfectly spiked eggnog. When I came back later that night to tuck her in, she had fallen asleep right where I'd left her, in the chair by the fire. I carried her to her bed, and began changing her clothes. Luckily for me, she didn't wake up until after I managed to pilfer a few kisses in unexplored territory. She has _delightful_ hipbones.

I would wait to give her more, but I would _steal_ everything I could until then. Heh.

Now safely under the covers, she looked up at me with a slightly inebriated expression and said, "I finally had a nice holiday in my own place."

"There is more to come, Miss," I offered, kissing her forehead and switching off her bedside lamp. Unsurprisingly, even though she was sweating some when I checked on her later, she didn't take off her shirt that night.

•

The next day was Sunday, her last day of the Thanksgiving break before returning back to school.

I was humming to myself in the kitchen, preparing Gilda's breakfast, when I heard her mournful cries. I do not refer to my Mistress.

I began leaving out dishes of cream just outside the delivery door of the kitchen the very first night we came to live in this manor, and sure enough, I caught the attention of a stray cat. Not just any stray, either – when she'd finally let me close enough to pick her up for a cuddle, my demon senses instantly detected that she was about a week pregnant with a litter. That was back in October. She was probably going to be having her babies the week before Christmas. There would be kittens!

Taking on the form of a cat was one of my many talents as demon. I also use the form of a crow, but that is mainly for reconnaissance. Being a cat, however, was _enjoyable_. I always try to make a cat-friend (or enemy) and play with them for a few hours. Do not ask me to go into details; cats are highly territorial and ruthless hunters, and very promiscuous. A description of my adventures may disgust you.

Or, not; I have no idea.

In any case, there were five of them in her belly, I think. Of course I had plans to make Cat – yes, I called her _Cat_, because I didn't know her name – a Queening Box, and to take care of her and her little ones the best I could without Gilda being aware of it. I knew my Mistress liked animals, but I had no idea how she would react to having them in the manor. For now, I just continued to feed Cat and stroked her soft fur when she allowed it.

My heart leapt. Excited at her early arrival, I went to the icebox and retrieved what I had been so diligently saving for her.

An old tradition in human culture was to set the remains of a chicken or turkey carcass out for strays after removing what was to be used for soup. Such customs have fallen out of favor in the last century, with people citing the dangers of vermin and germs to close to the home.

But not with me. Having prepared a Thanksgiving feast for nearly two dozen people, I had two large Turkey carcasses waiting for Cat in the icebox. My plan was to break them down and feed her delicious meals for about a week. Cat's babies were growing rapidly and she needed the nourishment.

Gilda was still in the unfortunate habit of 'checking out the fridge' as she called it, to get herself a snack. Each time she opened it since the feast, she wrinkled her nose and asked me when the dead birds were going to be cleared out. I kept giving her the soup excuse, and continued pressing her to just call for me if she wanted a snack, not to just _get it herself_ like some commoner, with the hope of staving off further inquiries. I worried that I was going to have to resort to my stern voice to get my way. Given my Grand Plan and our excellent progress in the sex department, I did not want to do that.

_Bother_. Maybe she'd get the point on her own…

Cat had not shown herself during the break, making me nervous as to where the poor thing was and how she was coping. I think there were just too many people around for her comfort. Unfortunately that meant the _dead birds_ had been in the icebox for a while as well.

I opened the delivery door, holding roughly one-third of one carcass in my hand, and there she was at my feet. Oh, my darling little mother-to-be! She took one look at what I held in my hand and began licking her tiny, delicate chops. Winding her lithe, kitten-filled body around the legs of my black trousers, I welcomed her into the house and shut the door.

She was a Russian Blue, and her coat was thick and shiny. Her eyes were the bright celadon color expected in the ring for that breed. She was slightly older as well, so I do not think this was her first litter. What fool would toss such a beautiful girl outside, I cannot imagine. Or perhaps she ran away from an unhappy home.

It didn't matter; she was _mine_ now, and she'd be cared for properly.

Cat ate slowly, which heartened me. This told me she was not starving and had found meals during her absence. I got her a dish of cream to go with her turkey. Squatting down to set the cream next to the carcass, I reached out and stroked her from her sensitive ears to her beguiling tail.

_So_ soft. I murmured and cooed sweet words to my beautiful Cat, and she occasionally stopped feeding to rub her head into my palm or meow her gratitude. Such an adorable. loving creature.

I stifled a growl when I felt someone's presence behind us. Standing quickly, I was surprised to see Gilda, with disheveled bed hair and a cute smirk, wearing a dark green robe over her pajamas. I was so enraptured with the return of Cat that I hadn't noticed Gilda creeping downstairs. She was standing behind me in the kitchen now, watching me interact with my lovely friend.

"Miss?" I asked quietly. "Why are you out of bed? I will have your breakfast ready momentarily…"

"I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep." She smirked at me again and came closer, but slowly. Cat stopped eating and mewed, looking up at her.

"_Pretty_ kitty," she said, and her voice was softer than I have ever heard it. Cat sniffed the air, then went back to her meal. Gilda smiled at me mischievously, then went to the kitchen table where she took a seat and stared at me.

I sighed. Yet another secret I was not going to be able to keep from her.

I busied myself with the coffee machine and pretended nothing had happened. "Why didn't you tell me we had a cat?" she asked, and the tone in her voice was pure tease. "I've never heard you talk so sweetly before."

"I have spoken to you many times with a sweet disposition," I said curtly. "In fact I usually speak to you thusly."

"Not like _that,_" she laughed. "You're _adorable_, Demon." She snickered rudely and covered her mouth.

I frowned at her, irritated at being found out. But at least she wasn't screaming and demanding that Cat be tossed out and never let back in. In fact, I was about to be given another gift.

"You can keep him – ah, or _her?_ Whatever – in the house, if you'd like. I don't mind."

I looked over at her slowly. No doubt my expression surprised her.

"Miss – _really?_ Are you being serious? Because…"

"Shit, Alex. I've never _seen_ you this happy. _I_ certainly don't make you this happy. Of course we can keep it. You have to take care of it, though. I've never had a pet so I don't know how. Is she healthy?"

"Well. Yes, she's actually _very _healthy. And… Cat is a _she_, and she is also pregnant."

"Ah. Good name. So… kittens for X-Mas, then."

Thrilled. I was _thrilled_, I tell you_._ I controlled it, however, not wanting to look like an insipid fool in front of the prey.

"Thank you, Miss. You are very magnanimous."

"If you say so, Alex. It's a big house. I don't want more people than you and me running around here _all_ the time, but we could use a nice pet or two." I held my breath, hoping she was not going to say something horrifying about getting a puppy. _Gods…_

"Alex, just… Just make sure she doesn't have fleas, okay? Bugs like…" She hesitated, staring at Cat. Biting her lip, she got up and turned her back on me as she walked to the door.

"Miss?"

Just before she reached the door, she said quietly, "Bugs seem to like me. I get bit. _Often_. That's why I don't go outside much." She pushed open the swinging door to the main hall and said, "I'm really hungry. I'll be in bed."

She disappeared into the hall.

Well, well… there _was_ more to her fear of the cross spider than her just being 'girlie'. Bugs liked to feed on her? Not surprising, given the quality of her blood.

However, I'm afraid _not_.

I am the only one that will be biting her in this house.

•

Gilda practiced a little bit that afternoon, and later came into the kitchen where I was washing the morning dishes. Cat was asleep on a makeshift bed of fluffy towels, warm and happy next to a modern heating radiator. Gilda smiled down at her as she walked past.

"Hello, Mistress."

She grinned at me. "Cat seems happy. That's nice."

I smiled. "I have bathed her. She is completely clear of vermin, and I will see to it that she stays that way. I wanted to make sure you knew that."

"You _bathed_ a stray? Didn't she fight you?"

I though to tell her the complete truth – that I had transformed and licked Cat clean myself, but I decided to keep things simple.

"Not at all. She seemed to enjoy it." Not a lie. That was one very happy pussy by the time I was finished with her_._ Changing the subject, I asked, "May I get you a snack, Miss?"

"No, just wanted to chat."

"I see. What did you want to talk about? I am versed in many subjects."

She grabbed an apple from a fresh fruit bowel on the kitchen table, and jumped up on the counter next to the sink.

"Alex," she began, banging her heel softly against a cupboard, "Why don't we have a dish washer?"

I looked over at her and tilted my head. Reaching a hand out to her, I tapped the tip of her nose with a suds-covered finger. "We do," I quipped, smirking.

She grinned and wiped the suds away with the back of her hand. "Cute," she said, "But you know what I mean. We have a washing machine, a dryer, all that. Why not a dishwasher?"

"I don't care for them. They don't do nearly as good a job as I can. The silverware and the dishes will be _perfection_. That is a rule with me. And… The fact of the matter is, I _enjoy_ washing dishes."

"You're a total throwback," she laughed lightly. "So which era has been your favorite? If I go by the way you decorated your room, I'd guess Victorian."

It was true, I had re-created the room I occupied at the Phantomhive mansion down to the last detail in Gilda's manor. I was quite fond of that room. It suited me.

But that had not been my favorite time in human history. I'm not telling Gilda, nor will I tell you, what that was. Ciel had not been my first rare soul, although he was the first one I came to love. There was one before him, my first of that caliber, and her soul had lasted over five hundred years.

"I liked the Victorian age quite a bit, yes," was all I offered. "Did you have a nice break, Miss?"

"Yes," she replied, her eyes lighting up. "You did _such_ a good job. Really, Alex, if this demon thing doesn't work out for you, you've a second career waiting, trust me."

"I'm afraid this _'demon thing' _is something I cannot rid myself of. But… _buttling_, yes. I know." I smiled.

"Well, okay, a third career then. I meant you'd make a great party planner. Ooh! _Wedding planner._ Yeah. Or interior decorator."

"Miss is too generous."

"Nah. Really, Alexander. I'm lucky to have you."

_And have me you do. Until the end. You cannot get rid of me. Ever._

I leaned over and gave her a peck on her cheek. Gilda blushed, and her pheromone levels went up a notch. Just a teensy bit, just the right amount.

"Okay, we'll I'm gonna take an early swim today," she said, leaping off the counter and putting the apple back. Had that entire conversation been an excuse just to compliment me?

Really… You should congratulate me. I was doing _so_ well!

"Yes, Mistress," I said, wiping my hands off on a towel. I could finish the dishes later. "I shall go check the linens in your changing room and wait for you there with your suit."

Where I shall brush and twist your lovely hair into a nice, tight bun. And undress you. And touch you. _Oh_…

"Oh, Alex, come on! I like it when you change my clothes, but I don't need to be babied _that_ much. You go do your chores, I know you like that. I can swim alone."

I could have argued with her, but we'd had such a nice little interlude, and I didn't want to ruin it.

"All right Miss. I will permit you some privacy, if that is your wish. But if you need _anything_, anything at all, even if it is to just stomp a bug – although if there is a bug down there I will be simply mortified – just say my name and I will be there in an instant."

"Yeah," she quipped, hanging onto the doorframe and smiling from ear to ear, "I've seen how fast you are. Are you that fast with _everything_ you do?"

The little flirt.

"I guess you will just have to find that one out for yourself, Miss Gilda."

•

"The brute is going to kill her. We should interfere, and now."

"You know as well as I do that if we interfere _now_, it will not work. He needs to fulfill the contract, and that won't happen until the coming Spring," the first one said, sounding bored. "And just what do you mean by this _'we'_ rubbish? I can't do _anything._ And _you_ can't break the rules."

The second one stewed.

"Well, that's wrong, actually. You can. You just _won't_. Isn't that right?"

The second one began to fume. They continued monitoring the scene as it played out, hoping they wouldn't have to change their long-term plans.

•

At some point while Gilda was swimming, Cat came tearing though the kitchen and into the pantry. She found a hiding spot in the back and would not come out. Most cats were skittish and pregnant females more so. While I found it perplexing, I did not try to force her out.

Then I heard it. It was very quick, but make no mistake, it was the sound of Gilda crying out my name for a brief moment, then silence.

I flew through the kitchen to the basement stairs, down through the game room, and then flung the pool door open and burst onto the concrete deck. There in the water, to my horror, was my Young Miss… unmoving, floating face down, with a pink cloud of what was surely her blood blossoming out around her in the five foot depth.

The next moments, several things happened very quickly. My heart sank in my chest at the thought of her dead. Not her soul, lost to me, but the thought of Gilda, _gone_. I looked down at my hand, and surprisingly, the contract mark was still present and as dark as the first day.

_Then,_ I noticed a man, fully dressed and climbing out of the water some feet away from her, with blood dripping down one side of his face.

I had to get to Gilda, but I had to detain him as well. What to do…

I moved so fast I could not be seen. I grabbed him by the throat and lifted him high above my head. Demonic eyes glowed, fangs were bared, and I growled so loudly the light fixtures rattled.

He panicked, looking down at his unearthly attacker with fright in his dark eyes. Disgusted with him, and realizing that I _had to get to Gilda_, I tossed him aside where he hit the wall with a satisfying thud. I heard flesh tear and bones break before he fell to the floor.

I dove in after Gilda and removed her from the water at inhuman speed, laying her down on the concrete gently. There were ligature marks on her neck, obviously from the man's hands, and she was not breathing.

I was going to tear him to tiny little pieces.

I put an ear to her chest, and realized with horror that her heart was not beating.

"_No._ No, no, no, Mistress, _breathe,_" I urged, panic welling in my gut. I slapped her across the face, hard, but she did not respond.

I could not lose her, not now. There was so much left for her to do, her composition had to be finished, I needed to _touch_ her more than I had, she had to finish _school_–

When had her life become this important to me? Why was I lamenting the loss of that before my meal?

I had no answer. All I was aware of was the panic I felt at the thought of losing her. I applied CPR – yes, I know how to do it. I figured it would come in handy in my profession and now here it was, doing just that–

Nothing. I flipped her over and pounded on her back several times. _"Gilda!"_ I yelled, breaking one of my precious rules of buttling and using just her name, and pounded again. Flipping her over, I was about to start another round of CPR when the sudden, _beautiful_ noise of her spitting up pool water filled my ears. I smiled nervously, and gently turned her onto her side, pounding her back again, _demanding_ that the water leave her lungs.

She coughed and coughed, then wiped her mouth and blinked. I sat her up and held her close to me, hiding my pathetic, relieved face from her view. When she coughed up more water, I resumed pounding.

"Stop it, stop! I'm breathing, I can breathe," she managed, her voice sounding like she had been gargling with thumbtacks. She said my name and clung to me, and started to cry.

"Mistress… Miss Gilda." That was all I could muster – her name.

That had been far too close. And I was clearly far too attached.

But, she was _alive_, yes? She'd live on and I could do all those things with her that I had so carefully planned.

Gilda gasped suddenly, and her body tensed up in my arms. She began pushing me off her and was nearly scratching my skin to get free.

"Get off, let go let _go!" _she screeched. Chalking it up to disorientation, I released her out of fear that she was going to hurt herself. She backpedalled on her rear-end away from me across the concrete and came to a halt with at least three feet of air between us. When I looked into her face, all I saw was fear.

The silence stretched out between us until her attacker disturbed it. The man had apparently woken up and decided to make his presence known by wailing in pain.

I whipped my head around. "Shut the fuck up," I stated, looking at him with death in my eyes. It wasn't _my_ fault his legs had broken. All _I_ did was throw him. He got the point and reduced his cries to a whimper. I turned back to the important person in the room.

"Miss Gilda, please do not be frightened. You are going to be fine."

"What have you _done_ to me?" she screamed.

"Mistress, _please_… calm yourself. I did not attack you," I begged, placing my hand on the wet fabric of my shirt right over my heart. She was confused from her attack and drowning, or at least, I _hoped_ that's all this was. "It was _him," _I said, pointing behind me, never taking my eyes off of her.

She looked past me to the whimpering goon, who was no doubt flailing on the concrete in a growing puddle of his own blood.

Gilda looked back at me, wild-eyed and crazed. When I made a move towards her, she immediately shimmied backwards again on her hands and backside, skinning her palms and thighs in the process.

I reached out to grab her to me, thinking this was ridiculous behavior. But then she put up a defensive arm, and screamed, "Don't touch me!"

Shocked, I recoiled. "What did you say to me…?" I tried not to think of Ciel, but it was nearly impossible.

"_Stay away from me!"_

"Miss Gilda, I assure you, I am not the one who is trying to hurt you. You are my Mistress. I am your butler. We have a _contract_." I swallowed, hesitating with what I was about to say. But I was flummoxed by this display of fear. It was directed at _me_. I had to do something.

"You are mine. I _care_ for you. I am trying to protect you."

She breathed hard, and her eyes began welling up. "What have you done, Demon? Who the fuck is Claude Faustus?"

Oh dear.

•

Promising her an explanation, Gilda finally allowed me to touch her. I wrapped her shaking body in a blanket, and I made her sit in a lawn chair while I dealt with our broken-legged ruffian.

I couldn't just kill him. He was the only one with any information as to why he was there. So I gleaned – well, all right, I crushed his fingers to get it – some information from him. He revealed he was in the employ of one Norman Bellows, no surprise there, and that he'd gotten the code for the alarm from none other than David Taylor.

_Wonderful._ Now I had to rid the manor of a soon-to-be-dismembered body _and _kill a conservatory student. It was going to be a busy week.

This man had to be taken care of, and Gilda knew it as well. She looked miserable, but to my surprise, she ordered me to do it. I was further shocked when, even after I asked her to keep her eyes shut, she refused and watched me work as I ended his life. I was quick about it, but given how angry I was, I was not gentle.

Eventually she let me examine her and alleviate my concerns that she was not bleeding out from a wound. The blood in the pool water, I learned, had belonged to her attacker. She had tried to scratch his ear off during their fight.

Apparently he had been standing at the edge of the pool waiting. When she came up to the wall to turn into another lap, he'd grabbed her by the hair and then forced her under. She'd used her legs against the wall of the pool to pull him in with her, and they fought, which was when she scratched his ear. She managed to get back up for a gulp of air and got out half my name, but he overpowered her again and choked her under the water's surface. She lost consciousness quickly after that, and took in water. It had happened very quickly.

She had no physical wounds aside from the uncomfortable feel of having had water in her lungs, strangulation marks on her neck from the man's hands, and scrapes from the concrete on her thighs and hands, which she'd given to herself when she tired to get away from me.

As to her behavior after… Something had happened to her – to her _soul _– while her heart had stopped.

As the day wore on, it became obvious that Gilda was quite shaken from her experience. She was walking around, her eyes were open, she was _functioning_… but her mind was clearly far away. Despondent, rattled. Afraid of me, but unable to leave my side.

The police never came, because her attacker had somehow disabled the alarm from the outside and then quietly broken the lock to the basement doors. _Fucking computers_. I wasn't going to rely on that infernal thing ever again. In the end, it was good that law enforcement hadn't come because there would have been all those messy legal entanglements to deal with.

Rafael Fernandez had arrived, however, within forty-three minutes after the attack, and was beside himself with guilt and fury that Gilda had been hurt. Before he drove off that night to poke his nose into the underbelly for more answers, he left seven of his goons with us.

Despite the fact that Rafael's men were on the grounds and stationed at various points throughout the house, I was the one she was looking to for protection. That's as it should be, really, I couldn't have been happier that she was seeing me in that light now; she should have seen me as her one and only protector from the start.

I was to blame that she hadn't. I had been far too lax in letting her have her way, like going on a silly date or her being away at school for several hours… all that time, alone, out of my sight. All because I became overconfident in the progress and nature of the contract, and I didn't want Gilda to get overly attached to me too soon. Now, I had to face the fact that _I_ was attached to _her_, and look where my damn plan has gotten me. What a fix.

Unfortunately, it gets worse. It was obvious that during those brief seconds when her heart had stopped, she'd had an experience of some sort on another plane of existence. I do not know if she had been in Hell; logic tells me no, as she wasn't technically _dead,_ nor was she _dying. _There had been no sign of the cinematic record, and no Reaper had shown up. However, how could she have possibly come up with the name _Claude Faustus_ if it had just been some damn hallucination? This was a complication I never could have foreseen.

There is also the problem of these new, unpleasant feelings towards me. Her desire to remain next to me for protection was wonderful. It was right on track with my plan. But she was also filled with distrust, and worse, hatred. This was a herald to the exact relationship I didn't want to have with her.

Starting tomorrow, things would change. I would not let her out of my sight. I can be a cat, or a crow. I can hop amongst the treetops. The housework will have to be done at night, but I _will_ watch her at school.

As far as her attitude towards me… I had to make up my mind, and quickly, as to what I was going to do about that.

For the rest of that afternoon, she tended to follow me about the house, and because of that she didn't get much work done on her studies. _I_ didn't get much accomplished either, worrying about her state of mind. At one point, we were on a walkway in the upper levels of the library, and that cold, rainy November wind kicked up again. Leaves and sticks and dirt went flying through the air to scrape at the window of a nearby alcove, causing us both to turn and look at the sound. When it died down, I resumed shelving the book in my hand, but I felt something weighing down the sleeve of my other hand.

When I looked down, I saw it was Gilda's fingers, clutching the fabric of my shirt right above the cuff.

Can you blame her?

Damnation is nothing like what you humans imagine it to be. It isn't necessarily eternal, constant torture and abuse. There is that, yes, but not for every human that ends up there. It's a completely tailored experience. The worst event thus far in her short life hadn't been the death of her mother, or even that she'd been raped. It had been both her parent's complete indifference to her. That had taught her to look inward for support, and to not trust anyone. So I had my suspicions as to what this experience, whatever it was, had been like for her, but I needed to get her to open up about it before I could help her with it. She wasn't ever going to forget it, but I could help her move on.

She let go my sleeve immediately when she saw me looking. When I glanced at her face, her eyes were wild. She looked like an abused dog, waiting to be punished or struck. And like that same dog, she looked very angry. With _me._

_Bother._

Dinner went by quickly, but she didn't eat much. Rafael stayed until then. He kissed her goodbye, and told her not to worry, and I noticed she clung to him a bit longer than usual when he hugged her. The presence of goons was not helping my effort to have a long talk with her, _alone_. But I endeavored to go about our routine, hoping that would get her to open up and start telling what had happened.

It didn't do any good. She was shying away from me when I dealt with her clothes, despondent during her bath, and silent while I dried her hair. By the time I tucked her into her bed, nothing had changed. I was sitting next to her as she lay on her back, and she was looking up at me in the dim light of her bedside table lamp. Her eyes still had that vacant, wild look in them.

I removed a glove, goons in the house be damned, and brushed the tips of my fingertips across her forehead. Letting my fingers slide down her cheek, my palm came to rest on the side of her face.

_My priceless treasure. I almost **lost** her. _

She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch just a tiny bit, but when she opened up her eyes again, her expression hadn't changed.

"I'll leave the light on, all right Miss?"

She didn't respond. She didn't even _move_. When I went to get up, one of her hands shot out and grabbed my sleeve, halting me from leaving.

Finally_. Finally, finally._

"Miss?"

Taking her hand back, she swallowed hard before answering. In a small, curt voice, she said, "I don't want to dream about it."

I sighed, sitting back down. "Miss Gilda, I cannot help you, or even determine what happened to you, until you tell me about it."

Reluctantly, she started to talk. "It was barren."

"There was no life there?"

She shook her head. "There was _something_ there… but all around me was dust and dry rocks. Like a dead planet."

"How long were you in that place?"

"A week, maybe? Days. Miles and miles of the same damn thing. No day, no night. Walking, stumbling and running."

When she stopped and looked me in the eyes, she did not look pleased with me.

"What else?"

"I was naked, which was awful. My knees were bleeding from falling down, my feet were all cut up. I was dirty, exhausted. I was thirsty. But I just _couldn't stop_."

I sighed. "Days, you say?"

"That's what it felt like. How long was I dead?"

"Mistress, you weren't officially dead. Your heart stopped, that's all."

"How _long_, Demon?" she asked through clenched teeth.

I hesitated to tell her. Time does not work the same in other dimensions as it does in yours. But, I would not lie. "Less than two minutes, I think." She frowned. It was very hard for a human to accept the changes in perception between those places and here, and the loss of linear time was one of the most difficult adjustments.

"So if I wasn't dead, then why was I in… Why was I _there?"_

"Firstly, I do not believe that wasHell. I imagine that is what it would be like for you, only it would be much worse. I can only surmise that you were in some sort of limbo, a state of flux. Perhaps because of your association with me you ended up there instead of… Instead of someplace more pleasant. Do you honestly think you'd prefer an eternity of _that_ over me eating your soul?"

"Don't ask me that _now_," she said, starting to tear up. I removed my other glove and stroked the sides of her face again, trying to shush her.

I admit that I was hurt, but not at all surprised when she slapped my hands away. Just like Ciel… Did Claude do to her what he did to him?

No. No, that wasn't possible. If there _was_ anything left of Faustus, it couldn't have been anything more than a demonic soul. Forever stuck in that form, he could do no more than torment her. She was simply angry with me.

Of course, there is nothing simple about that.

She stopped herself from crying, and blurted out angrily, "Who is this Claude person? What the _fuck_ have you gotten me mixed up in?"

I was going to have to tell her things… or some_thing_, at least, that I didn't want to.

"Claude Faustus is… _was_ another Demon. We fought a great battle in the past, and… I killed him." I was going to say 'he lost', but that's not really accurate, is it? "Please tell me what he did to you."

"He didn't _do_ anything. There was no one there, remember? I only heard him. He taunted me. He was very angry, He said he was going to take me from you. Then I'd feel something at my back, and I'd turn, but there was never anything there."

"What _exactly_ did he say to you?"

"Alex…" she started, frowning. "Is this whole thing about my soul just some excuse? Are you…" she stopped, biting her lip and looking up at me with such an angry, frightened face. Swallowing hard, she continued. "Are you using me to get back at him for something?"

It was my turn for my eyes to 'bug out'. I exhaled, and put my temper in check. After all, it wasn't _her_ I was angry with.

"I have _contracted_ with you because I have something to offer you in exchange for your soul. I am hungry, and you are delicious." She nodded, and I shouldn't have been surprised at that. Accepting the terms of our deal so easily - sometimes I was confused as to why she actually contracted with me in the first place, taking such a terrible chance. Tonight's little adventure had given her a taste of just how terrible it could be.

"If you consider that to be _using _you, there is nothing I can do about that. But surely you know by now that I care about you a great deal."

There was no lie there. I did care. I wanted to keep her bliss up as high as possible until the end, to enhance her flavor, true; but I _do _care_._ I came out of that closet the moment I saw her floating face down in the pool.

Gilda wasn't as convinced. "I thought you did. Now I'm not so sure."

Goddamn Faustus and Hannah fucking Annafellows. Pardon my _damn French,_ as Uncle Rafael would say, but I am fucking pissed off. Once again, _they have ruined everything_. My 'Grand Plan' was quickly turning into a unfortunate salvage.

"I cannot force you to believe me, Mistress, but it is true. I care so much that I have your comfort in mind – at all times. I want you to be happy, not simply healthy."

"What about sex? Are you using that to make me 'happy' as well?"

"No, I am hoping to use that to give you orgasms."

She frowned again, and I cannot tell you how relieved I was that she did not make me elaborate any further.

"I want for your happiness, from now until I finally take you in, and to whatever degree can be achieved after that, as well. There will be no dusty rocks, bloody feet or terrorizing voices. Just sweet, calm, pitch black relief while you are nestled safely in my very being."

"While you suck me dry, yeah." She narrowed her eyes at me and it was not at all playful. "You don't gotta sell me on it anymore, Alex. Trust me. You'll get your damn dinner."

_Resignation_. Not my favorite way to get them, but still.

All right, then. If she was to remain angry with me, then I'd have to deal with that. "You will tell me what he said, Mistress."

She frowned again. Looking away from me, she continued. "I only heard him near the end. There was no noise at all before that, then all of a sudden there was this voice. It asked 'how is Sebastian doing?' then it laughed. He sounded like a… drunk, horny pervert." Her lip curled back. "I called out your name a few times then. You didn't answer, so I panicked. When I said I didn't know any Sebastian, the voice got angry and called me a liar. He said he could smell Sebastian all over me. Then he asked me if I had a butler, and shit got really weird from there."

"Go on."

"He told me his name was Claude Faustus. He said _your_ name is Sebastian. I guess that's what Grell has been saying all this time? When she calls you 'Bassie'? I should have guessed you were hiding things from me…" She trailed off, sounding miserable and buying her face in her hands. I refused to reach out and touch her.

I _wanted _to, though.

Gilda wiped a few stray tears away with the back of her hand, and continued. "Then he kept saying 'she left me, she stole them', over and over, calling whoever this _her_ is a bitch and a cunt. He said he was going to cut me up and send me back to you in a bucket. He sounded just… _insane_ with rage. It was like his hatred was everywhere, buzzing in my brain and shaking the rocks. I covered my ears, but it didn't help, and I fell down and I was terrified–"

She sobbed once, putting a hand over her mouth and closing her eyes.

"You could feel his presence?" She nodded. "Yet there was no one there with you."

"No one. There was no one."

"And no one was coming for you."

Ah, there it was. I'd hit the mark. Her lower lip trembled, and really, she tried _so_ hard to keep the tears from flowing. What a little trooper. She turned her head away from me, embarrassed. When I tried to get her to turn back to me, she resisted and gave me an angry whine. So I forged ahead, lifting her up by her torso and hugging her to me. Eventually she submitted enough to have a good cry while I held her, with her hands fisting the front of my shirt.

"Mistress."

"What?" she asked, sounding perfectly wretched.

"_I_ came for you."

She pulled back, pushing my hands from her person, and looked at my face. I gave her a tentative smile. "I _know_," she sobbed. "I heard you calling me, and I screamed out your name. The next thing I knew, I was puking up pool water."

I let her cry, but I did not touch her again.

"I cannot answer as to why two minutes for me seemed like days for you, and I am sorry about that. But you heard me. I would have continued trying to pull you out of there even if it had been much longer. Here, let me show you something."

I bade her lay back down and lifted my right hand, showing my contract mark to her, and she eyed it warily. I pulled down her comforter and lifted up her t-shirt to expose her belly.

"What are you…"

She started to fight me, but I asked her to just be calm and she complied. I turned my hand over, and gently rubbed my contract mark against the one on her tummy. I smiled, feeling my skin grow warm until it began to tingle.

She gasped, but not as if she were in pain. "Can you feel that? Can you feel your mark tingling?" She nodded, and I wiped away more tears. "That is the bond of our contract. We are connected, Miss Gilda, completely. As long as these contract marks remain, you and I cannot be separated. Not even if I die. Not _even_ if you are in limbo."

I'd meant to try and lift her spirits with that last, but she laughed bitterly. "How convenient for you," she muttered.

I realized the inevitable; that it was going to take me _weeks_ to get us back to where we were this morning.

"All right, Miss. We will talk about this again when you are not so livid with me."

"Don't hold your breath, Demon. If you even _breathe_."

She flipped over, giving me her back.

Well then. The crisis was averted, for now. If she wanted her fluffy comforter tucked in around her, she could do it herself. I sighed and left her alone.

She sleep-stripped in the middle of the night and removed her shirt, but this time she actually woke up, shouting something along the lines of _'get them off of me'. _ Unless she called out my name I was _not_ coming to her aid. She didn't.

It was looking like I didn't have to worry about breaking her heart anymore, either.

'_Enraged'_ she'd be very tasty, too.

I suppose.

_Dammit_.

•

_tbc_

•

If you read it, please review it!


	9. Chapter 9

Lately I've been getting a lot of followers to Gilded and Empress & Concubine, which leads me to believe that the notes on my fanfic dot net profile page are not being read.

So... If you want to read the rest of Gilded (as it _is_ finished) or it you want to read the rest of Empress & Concubine, Part One (as it is _also_ finished) simply click on my author icon and read my profile!

There be links.

Essential links, as well, for those that want to read Empress & Concubine Part Two, when I get to posting the first chapter, which you will not find here, sorry.

Thanks for reading!

~ tink


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